% 


Division.-.:. 


THE    LIFE   OF   CHRIST 


THE 


LIFE  OF  CHRIST 


BY 

WILLIAM  J,  DAWSON 


PHILADELPHIA 
GEORGE  W.  JACOBS  &  CO 

103-105  South  Fifteenth  Street 


Copyright,  1901,  by 
WILLIAM  J.   DAWSON 


PREFACE 

If  a  book  is  incapable  of  expressing  its  scope  and  inten- 
tion with  adequate  lucidity,  it  is  scarcely  in  the  power  of  a 
preface  to  atone  for  this  inherent  defect.  A  preface  may, 
however,  do  something  to  define  the  objects  of  an  author,  and 
it  is  a  recognized  vehicle  of  personal  confession. 

The  object  of  the  author  is  to  depict  the  human  life  of 
Jesus  as  it  appeared  to  His  contemporaries,  with  a  purposed 
negligence,  as  far  as  it  is  possible,  of  the  vexed  problems  of 
theology  and  metaphysics.  It  is  the  Man  Christ  Jesus 
whom  the  author  has  striven  to  see  ;  and  it  will  be  unneces- 
sary to  remind  the  reader  that  this  phrase  is  St.  Paul's.  It 
must,  however,  be  confessed,  frankly  and  at  once,  that  the 
author  has  not  interpreted  the  phrase  as  strictly  limitary.  It 
did  at  one  time  seem  possible  to  write  a  life  of  Christ  from 
the  sole  point  of  view  of  its  human  grace  and  efficiency,  but 
the  design  was  soon  rejected  as  entirely  incompetent  to  the 
theme.  The  first  chapters  of  the  book  were  scarcely  drafted 
before  the  story  seemed  to  pass  from  the  author's  hands  and 
to  write  itself  in  terms  of  its  own.  As  the  experiment  pro- 
ceeded the  mind  became  more  and  more  an  involuntary 
agent,  acting  upon  instincts  which  were  not  based  on  reason, 
but  were  superior  to  reason.  This  did  not  annihilate  the 
functions  of  criticism ;  it  did  not  replace  these  functions  with 
something  else ;  but  it  produced  a  conviction,  at  once  pro- 
found, gradual,  and  irresistible,  that  in  the  very  nature  of  the 
story  itself,  and  therefore  in  the  nature  of  Christ,  were  ele- 


vi  PREFACE 

merits  entirely  incommensurate  with  the  limits  of  the  human. 
It  is  not  possible  to  disengage  the  human  elements  in  Jesus 
from  the  Divine.  The  human  life  may  be  indeed  studied  in 
its  integrity,  and  no  story  can  be  more  fruitful  of  exalted 
thought  and  impulse ;  but  at  every  stage  a  deepening  awe 
falls  upon  the  mind,  until  at  last  the  sublime  confession  rises 
to  the  lips,  "  These  things  are  written  that  ye  might  believe 
that  Jesus  is  the  Christ,  the  Son  of  God,  and  that  believing 
ye  might  have  life  through  His  name." 

Although  a  Pauline  phrase  is  used  to  express  the  charac- 
ter of  the  book,  yet  it  is  obvious  that  the  only  materials  we 
possess  for  a  life  of  Christ  are  not  found  in  the  writings  of 
St.  Paul,  but  of  the  Evangelists.  Bentham's  famous  motto, 
"  Not  Paul,  but  Jesus,"  is  still  significant  of  a  wide  cleavage 
in  religious  thought.  St.  Paul  certainly  had  the  first  word 
in  the  shaping  of  Christianity,  for  his  writings  had  made  a 
deep  impression  on  the  human  mind  long  before  the  Gospels 
were  known  except  by  oral  tradition.  One  might  have  sup- 
posed that  St.  Paul  himself,  the  only  man  of  trained  mind 
among  the  Apostles,  would  have  been  eager  to  collect  these 
traditions,  and  to  combine  them  into  an  authoritative  life  of 
Christ.  But  St.  Paul  had  never  seen  the  living  Jesus.  Jesus 
only  begins  to  exist  for  him  on  the  day  when  He  dies,  or 
rather  on  the  day  when  He  rises  again  from  the  dead.  St. 
Paul  is  pre-eminently  the  Apostle  of  the  Resurrection  and 
the  Spiritual  Life  of  Jesus.  The  Resurrection,  and  the  sub- 
lime theologies  which  sprang  from  it,  absorbed  his  mind ; 
and,  no  doubt,  the  Resurrection  was  the  supreme  fact  which 
all  the  Apostles  had  to  communicate  to  the  world.  But  the 
world  needed  more  than  a  theology  to  save  it;  it  needed 
more  even  than  the  doctrine  of  a  Resurrection.  It  needed  a 
human  Christ,  a  Person  who  could  be  loved,  an  Example  that 
could  be  followed :     One  who,  in  living  the  most  perfect  of 


PREFACE  vii 

all  lives,  had  become  the  Arbiter  of  life  itself,  the  mirror  of 
all  perfection,  and  the  fountain  of  all  grace  and  virtue. 

The  Gospels  supply  this  need.  They  compose  an  incom- 
parable picture,  drawn  with  a  pencil  dipped  in  the  vital  hues 
of  nature,  of  a  life  wiser,  purer,  loftier,  and  more  lovable. than 
the  world  had  ever  known.  The  Christ  who  moves  through 
these  inimitable  scenes  is  incontestably — to  take  the  lowest 
ground — the  greatest  Figure  in  universal  history.  It  seems 
almost  an  impertinence  to  inquire  if  this  Portrait  is  after  all 
imaginary.  Who  was  to  imagine  it  ?  To  have  invented  or 
evolved  the  sublime  Figure  of  Jesus  of  Nazareth,  the  Evan- 
gelists must  have  been  the  equals  of  the  Christ  whom  they 
invented.  They  were  no  more  capable  of  such  a  task  than  the 
man  destitute  of  genius  is  capable  of  creating  the  master- 
pieces of  enduring  art  and  literature.  With  a  divinely  art- 
less art,  which  transcends  all  art  and  fills  the  mind  with 
wonder,  four  men  of  diverse  idiosyncrasy  describe  the  life  of 
Jesus  in  such  a  way  that  the  mind  of  the  whole  world  is 
henceforth  riveted  upon  their  pages ;  and  the  more  closely 
these  Gospels  are  studied  the  more  decisive  becomes  the  ver- 
dict of  their  essential  truth. 

To  the  Gospels  the  world  will  always  turn  to  discover  the 
Portrait  of  Christ ;  yet  there  are  certain  strong  reasons  why 
from  time  to  time  men  should  seek  to  re- write  the  life  of 
Christ  for  their  contemporaries.  The  chief  of  these  is,  that 
every  age  has  its  own  way  of  thinking  of  Christ,  and,  in 
effect,  speaks  a  new  language  of  religion.  There  is  also 
something  to  be  said  of  that  growth  of  knowledge  which 
supplies  perpetual  incentives  to  clothe  with  some  fresh  color 
of  reality  a  story  whose  fascination  can  never  be  exhausted. 
But  the  best  reason  of  all  is  that  the  life  of  Christ  is  the  only 
life  in  which  the  world  is  permanently  interested.  The  charm 
of  Christ  is  indestructible ;  and,  however  we  may  account  for 


viii  PREFACE 

it,  He  is  regarded  by  millions  of  the  human  race  rather  as  a 
Living  Presence  than  as  an  actor  in  scenes  long  closed. 
Alone,  among  the  many  lives  which  have  diversified  the 
course  of  history,  this  Life  presents  the  greatest  of  all  ob- 
jects of  human  thought ;  and  so  fruitful  is  its  effect  on  even 
the  meanest  pen,  that  he  can  scarce  write  in  vain  who  writes 
of  Christ. 

The  design  on  the  author's  part  to  compose  some  account 
of  the  life  of  Christ  was  cherished  through  twenty  years  of 
public  teaching,  and  in  part  achieved,  when  a  visit  to  the 
Holy  Land  in  the  spring  of  1901  at  last  gave  determination 
to  his  aims.  Here  the  plan  of  the  book  took  final  outline, 
and  its  general  principles  were  settled.  Living  for  a  time — 
alas  !  too  brief — in  the  very  scenes  where  Jesus  moved,  sail- 
ing on  His  own  lake,  beholding  not  alone  the  outlines  of 
scenery  which  He  beheld,  but  many  characteristics  of  the 
popular  life  which  have  suffered  little  alteration  in  the  wide 
vicissitudes  of  twenty  centuries,  it  was  as  though  a  new 
Gospel  were  rapidly  unfolded  to  the  wondering  eyes.  An 
indescribable  sense  of  familiarity  pursued  the  mind  in  every 
aspect  of  these  sacred  scenes.  The  parables  which  Christ 
invented,  the  metaphors  He  employed,  the  incidents  asso- 
ciated with  His  teaching,  were  no  longer  seen  as  delightful 
elements  of  literature,  but  as  a  series  of  pictures,  touched 
with  the  hues  of  indelible  reality.  No  one  who  has  not 
passed  through  Palestine  with  the  Gospels  in  his  hand  can 
comprehend  the  thrill  and  shock  of  mind  thus  experienced. 
It  is  as  though  Jesus  spoke  afresh  in  a  land  where  all  things 
speak  of  Him.  And  amid  the  rush  of  these  new  emotions 
and  impressions  it  seemed  that  if  but  a  small  portion  of  this 
exquisite  fascination  could  be  captured  by  the  pen,  and  used 
to  give  fresh  interest  to  a  story  of  which  the  world  is  never 
weary,  it  were  a  task  worth  doing.     All  the  more  did  it  seem 


PREFACE  ix 

a  task  that  could  not  fail  of  achieving  some  general  good, 
since  the  outlines  of  the  life  of  Christ  are  too  often  treated 
as  legendary  by  the  learned,  and  are  dulled  even  to  the  pious 
by  the  triteness  of  familiarity. 

It  goes  without  saying  that  the  author  owes  much  to  pre- 
vious writers.  His  first  intention  was  to  acknowledge  these 
obligations  one  by  one,  as  they  occurred ;  but  it  soon  became 
evident  that  this  could  not  be  done  without  encumbering 
every  page  with  footnotes  to  an  incredible  degree.  The  same 
remark  applies  to  Scripture  references  which,  in  the  nature 
of  things,  were  yet  more  numerous.  It  seemed  better,  there- 
fore, to  omit  all  footnotes.  The  reader  familiar  with  the 
work  of  other  writers  will  recognize  the  nature  of  the  author's 
obligations ;  the  less  experienced  reader  will  perhaps  be 
grateful  for  a  narrative  which  offers  no  distractions,  and  in- 
flicts none  of  that  peculiar  irritation  which  elaborate  foot- 
notes rarely  fail  to  produce  in  the  minds  of  those  who  are 
more  interested  in  a  history  than  in  the  technical  processes 
by  which  its  structure  is  built  up. 

TV  J.  Dawson. 

Londox,  1901. 


CONTENTS 


INTRODUCTION 

THE    MEMORABILIA   OF   JESUS  .  .  .  .7 

CHAPTEE  I 

THE   BIKTH   AND   EARLY   LIFE    OF   JESUS         .  .  .21 

CHAPTEE  n 

JOHN   THE   BAPTIST  .  .  .  .  .35 

CHAPTEE  HI 

THE  INFLUENCE  OF  JOHN  ON  JESUS       .       .       .46 

CHAPTEE  IV 

THE   OPENING:   SCENES  .  .  .  .  .57 

CHAPTEE  Y 

THE   DrVTNE    PROGRAMME    .  .  .  .  .70 

CHAPTEE  VI 

IDYLLIC   DAYS  .  .  .  .  .  .82 


xii  CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  VII 

PAGE 
THE    CLEANSING   OF   THE   TEMPLE    .  .  .  .94 

CHAPTER  VIII 

JESUS   AND   THE   INDIVIDUAL  .  -  .    105 

CHAPTER  TX 

THE    MIEACLE- WORKER         .  .  .  .  .120 

CHAPTER  X 

THE    NEW   SOCIETY  .....    132 

CHAPTER  XI 

ONE  OF  THE  DAYS  OF  THE  SON  OF  MAN  .       .       .  145 

CHAPTER   XII 

THE   PRTVATE   LIFE    OF   JESUS  .  .  .  .158 

CHAPTER  XIII 

THE  FALLING  OF  THE  SHADOW    .       .       .       .170 

CHAPTER  XIV 

A   GREAT   CRISIS     ......    183 

CHAPTER  XV 

THE   AFFIRMATION   OF   GOD'S    BENIGNITY        .  .  .197 

CHAPTER  XVI 

MISSIONARY  ENTERPRISE     .  .  .  .  .212 


CONTENTS  xiii 

CHAPTEE  XVn 

PAGE 
THE   EVENT   AT   C^SAREA   PHriJPPI  .  .  .225 

CHAPTEE  XVHI 

THE   FAREWELL   TO    GALTLEE  ....    240 

CHAPTEE  XIX 

THE   UNCHASTE       ......    253 

CHAPTEE  XX 

THE   FULLER   EXPOSITION   OF    SOCIAL   TRUTHS  .  .269 

CHAPTEE  XXI 

THE    TEACHINGS   UPON   JUDGMENT   .  285 

CHAPTEE  XXH 

THE   RAISING   OF   LAZARUS  ....    301 

CHAPTEE  XXTLI 

THE  LAST  RETREAT  AND  THE  RETURN    .       .       .317 

CHAPTEE  XXIV 

THE   ENTRY   LNTO   JERUSALEM  .  .  .  .332 

CHAPTEE  XXV 

THE    GREAT   RENUNCIATION  ....    345 

CHAPTEE  XXVI 

THE    TRAITOR  ......    361 


xiv  CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  XXVII 

PAGE 
THE    LAST   SUPPER   AND   THE   ARREST   OF   CHRIST       .  .377 

CHAPTER  XXVIII 

THE    TRIAL   OF   JESUS  .....    393 

CHAPTER  XXIX 

THE    DEATH    OF   JESUS  .  .  .  .  .412 

CHAPTER  XXX 

THE    RESURRECTION   AND   AFTER       .  .  .  .428 

APPENDIX 449 


INTRODUCTION 


THE  MEMOBABILIA  OF  JESUS 

To  write  the  biography  of  Jesus  Christ  with  anything  like 
unerring  accuracy  is  a  task  which  surpasses  the  genius  and 
scholarship  of  man.  Too  many  centimes  have  passed  since 
that  life  was  lived,  and  the  sources  of  authentic  information 
are  too  dispersed  and  confused.  The  author  of  the  Fourth 
Gospel  himself  admits  this  difficulty  when  he  states  that  if 
all  that  Jesus  did  and  said  were  narrated,  the  world  itself 
would  not  contain  the  books  that  might  be  written.  This 
admission  admirably  defines  the  nature  of  the  Gospels  or  bi- 
ographies of  Jesus  which  are  the  only  authentic  sources  of 
information  which  we  possess.  They  are  the  scattered  mem- 
orabilia of  a  great  personage ;  perhaps  we  should  more  justly 
say  the  scanty  tithes  of  these  memorabilia.  They  are  the 
fragments  and  materials  out  of  which  biographies  may  be 
compiled,  rather  than  formal  and  orderly  biographies.  Cer- 
tain outstanding  facts,  which  all  agree  did  occur,  are  here 
narrated.  Certain  germinal  truths,  which  Jesus  again  and 
again  reiterated  in  His  teaching,  are  here  preserved,  but  with 
a  striking  disparity  of  recollection.  St.  Luke  alone  attempts 
something  in  the  nature  of  harmonious  narrative,  but  in  order 
to  do  so  he  obviously  prunes  and  combines  his  materials,  oc- 
casionally going  to  the  length  of  fusing  similar  but  separate 
parables  which  appear  to  have  a  common  ethical  idea.  Even 
in  matters  of  chronology  the  Gospels  are  far  from  attaining 

7 


8  INTRODUCTION 

that  rigid  and  implacable  lucidity  demanded  in  modern  biog- 
raphy. We  are  left  in  considerable  doubt  as  to  the  order  of 
important  events.  With  the  exception  of  certain  great  cen- 
tral incidents,  which  were  too  impressive  not  to  be  remem- 
bered accurately  in  relation  to  time  and  place,  there  is  little 
evidence  that  the  Gospel  writers  possessed  what  we  should 
call  the  sense  of  history. 

The  extreme  difficulty  of  obtaining  anything  like  an  accu- 
rate biography  of  any  person,  many  years  after  he  has  de- 
parted from  the  theatre  of  his  exertions  may  be  brought  home 
to  the  mind  by  a  simple  illustration.  In  the  modern  world 
of  action  no  man  has  bulked  so  large,  or  thrown  so  long  a 
shadow  over  the  fields  of  time,  as  Napoleon.  There  are  those 
still  alive  who  saw  him.  During  his  lifetime  a  hundred  pens 
were  busy  in  recording  his  words,  his  actions,  and  a  multi- 
tude of  individual  impressions  regarding  him.  It  is  not  yet 
a  century  since  he  expired.  Yet  in  this  tiny  space  of  time 
much  that  is  legendary  has  already  mixed  itself  with  his  his- 
tory. No  two  books  about  him  convey  an  impression  pre- 
cisely similar.  It  has  already  become  necessary  for  a  biog- 
rapher of  Napoleon  to  wade  through  an  enormous  mass  of 
contradictory  evidence,  to  discard  statements  which  he  justly 
regards  as  spurious,  to  exercise  the  most  sagacious  care  in 
accepting  other  statements  as  undoubtedly  authentic.  So 
great  is  this  labor,  so  delicate  and  onerous  the  work  of  dis- 
crimination which  it  involves,  thai  it  has  already  come  to  be 
doubted  whether  any  just  and  perfect  biography  of  Napoleon 
can  be  written. 

The  general  characteristics  and  limitations  of  the  human 
mind  remain  much  the  same  through  all  the  centuries,  and 
what  presents  insuperable  difficulty  in  the  beginning  of  the 
twentieth  century  was  not  less  difficult  in  the  first  century. 
But  this  is  a  palpable  understatement  of  the  case,  for  the  first 


INTRODUCTION  9 

century  was  not  nearly  so  well  equipped  for  the  work  of  biog- 
raphy as  the  twentieth.  The  real  difficulty  of  a  biographer 
of  Napoleon  lies  not  in  the  scarcity  but  the  multiplicity  of 
documents.  A  man  who  often  dictated  fourteen  hours  a  day, 
as  Napoleon  did,  necessarily  leaves  behind  him  an  enormous 
mass  of  material  bearing  the  stamp  and  seal  of  his  own  mind. 
Beside  this  there  are  letters  undoubtedly  written  with  his 
own  hand  that  may  be  consulted,  state  archives,  and  contem- 
porary accounts  of  his  actions.  In  the  conditions  of  the 
modern  world  there  is  nothing  hidden  that  is  not  revealed 
about  a  popular  hero,  no  word  that  is  spoken  in  the  chamber 
that  is  not  speedily  proclaimed  from  the  housetop.  On  the 
instant  that  a  man  emerges  into  fame  a  host  of  chroniclers  is 
attracted  to  him,  and  the  degree  of  his  fame  regulates  the  de- 
gree of  their  industry. 

These  conditions  are  almost  wholly  reversed  in  the  case  of 
Jesus.  One  of  the  most  striking  facts  about  Him  is  that  He 
wrote  nothing  Himself,  and,  so  far  as  we  know,  nothing  was 
written  about  Him  in  His  lifetime.  His  method  of  instruc- 
tion was  purely  oral.  His  formal  discourses  are  singularly 
few.  Some  of  the  most  exquisite  of  His  remembered  words 
were  spoken  to  individuals,  or  to  little  groups  of  people  in 
familiar  conversation.  He  scattered  the  jewels  of  His  speech 
Avith  a  lavish  hand,  apparently  with  no  notion  of  their  worth. 
Always  fresh,  natural,  and  spontaneous,  it  did  not  occur  to 
Him  that  His  words  should  be  recorded  with  fulness  and  ac- 
curacy ;  at  all  events,  there  is  no  indication  that  He  ever  con- 
templated a  biographer.  Nor  if  He  had,  would  it  have  been 
easy  to  find  one  among  His  disciples  ;  and  this  for  two  rea- 
sons. One  was,  that  they  were,  in  the  Pharisaic  phrase — for 
once  just — "  ignorant  and  unlettered  men."  The  system  of 
national  education  which  prevailed  among  the  Jews  in  Christ's 
day  provided  them  with  the  elementary  means  of  knowledge, 


10  INTRODUCTION 

but  between  such  knowledge  and  the  least  literary  aptitude  a 
wide  gulf  is  fixed.  And  another  reason  is,  that  with  all  the 
personal  and  passionate  love  they  bore  their  Master,  the  dis- 
ciples mingled  constant  incredulity  and  misapprehension  of 
His  claims.  It  is  plain  in  every  line  of  the  Gospels  that  the 
disciples  were  attracted  to  Jesus  by  His  personal  charm, 
rather  than  by  any  just  sense  of  His  Divine  significance. 
And  to  this  it  may  be  added  that  the  ministry  of  Christ  in 
Palestine  was  in  all  probability  much  less  of  a  national  event 
than  we  take  it  to  have  been.  It  attracted  the  poor  and  un- 
considered ;  in  very  rare  cases  the  learned  and  the  wealthy, 
and  those  mainly  from  motives  of  passing  curiosity.  It  is 
significant  that  Pilate  had  never  heard  the  name  of  Jesus. 
The  mixture  of  sarcasm  and  curiosity  with  which  he  treats 
his  prisoner  is  easily  explicable  when  we  remember  that 
Pilate  was  suddenly  called  upon  to  judge  religious  phenom- 
enona,  the  existence  of  which  he  did  not  so  much  as  know  by 
the  merest  rumor. 

It  is  difficult  for  the  Christian  believer,  to  whom  the  life 
of  Christ  naturally  appears  to  be  the  greatest  event  in  uni- 
versal history,  to  give  the  appreciation  that  they  deserve  to 
such  statements  as  these.  Yet  here  again  the  mind  may  be 
helped  by  a  parallel  more  or  less  exact.  Let  us  suppose  the 
sudden  rise  of  a  new  religious  teacher  in  some  remote  prov- 
ince of  our  Indian  Empire.  Let  us  imagine  this  teacher 
drawing  after  him  numbers  of  peasants,  gaining  great  local 
popularity,  at  last  coming  into  conflict  with  authority,  and 
at  the  close  of  three  years  disappearing  from  the  scene, 
either  by  exile  or  by  death.  What  should  we  be  likely  to 
know  of  such  a  teacher  and  such  a  movement  after  any  con- 
siderable lapse  of  time  ?  We  should  no  doubt  be  able  to 
discover  the  brief  record  of  the  judicial  proceedings  which 
condemned  him ;  we  might  find  a  few  paragraphs  in  con- 


INTRODUCTION  11 

temporary  journals  ;  and  for  the  curious,  who  sought  to 
gather  information  in  the  province  where  he  had  lived,  there 
would  be  something  discoverable  in  the  way  of  legend,  tradi- 
tion, and  popular  memory.  We  should  scarcely  be  sur- 
prised, however,  if  our  researches  yielded  but  a  scant  result. 
We  should  be  perfectly  aware  that  many  things  might  occur 
in  a  remote  province  of  India  that  would  attract  no  notice  in 
an  empire  so  vast ;  «that  such  sudden  religious  movements 
were  by  no  means  uncommon ;  that  locally  memorable  as 
they  might  appear,  yet  in  the  larger  perspective  of  the  life 
of  three  hundred  millions  of  people,  they  were  relatively  un- 
important. It  would  be  much  if  the  mere  name  of  such  a 
teacher  survived  for  a  generation.  In  any  case  we  should 
conclude  that,  however  rapid  the  means  by  which  fame  is 
disseminated  in  the  modern  world,  a  local  notoriety  extending 
to  three  years  only  was  wholly  insufficient  to  establish  a 
fame  that  should  be  either  wide-spread  or  enduring. 

"What  a  remote  province  in  India  is  to  the  entire  British 
Empire,  Palestine  was  in  relation  to  the  Roman  Empire.  It 
was  the  least  important  of  Roman  possessions.  It  was  a 
hotbed  of  fanaticism  and  religious  tumult.  Gamaliel,  in  the 
judgment  he  is  forced  to  form  on  the  new  phenomenon  of 
Christianity,  recalls  two  other  risings,  in  which  the  religious 
and  political  elements  mingled;  one  under  Theudas,  the 
other  under  Judas  of  Galilee,  each  of  which  had  closed  in 
ignominy.  The  ministry  of  Jesus  was  immediately  pre- 
ceded by  the  equally  popular  ministry  of  John  the  Baptist. 
Is  it  wTonderful  that  men  who  were  accustomed  to  such  move- 
ments treated  them  with  supercilious  disdain,  or  even  with 
angry  contempt?  What  more  natural  than  to  confuse  the 
movement  led  by  Jesus  with  the  superficially  similar  move- 
ments of  a  Theudas  and  a  Judas  of  Galilee  ?  In  any  case 
it  was  natural  that  no  one  of  any  literary  eminence  or  capac- 


12  INTRODUCTION 

ity  should  have  thought  it  worth  his  while  to  have  taken 
notes  of  the  sayings  and  deeds  of  Jesus.  The  whole  move- 
ment in  its  actual  rise  and  growth  was  too  obscure  to  attract 
a  properly  equipped  biographer.  The  golden  moment  when 
Jesus  might  have  been  studied  at  first-hand  passed  unnoticed. 
The  supremest  opportunity  ever  offered  to  a  biographer  in 
the  entire  history  of  the  world,  no  one  was  wise  enough  to 
grasp.  Not  until  the  brief  career  of  Christ  was  closed  did 
men  perceive  His  real  significance  and  endeavor  to  recall  His 
words ;  and  who  shall  say,  remembering  the  infirmity  of 
human  memory,  how  many  parables  are  lost  for  one  that  is 
recorded,  how  many  incidents  are  forgotten  for  one  that  is 
narrated  adequately  ? 

Such  considerations  lead  inevitably  to  another  question. 
By  what  means  were  the  teachings  of  Jesus  and  the  outlines 
of  His  life  preserved  ?  Obviously  the  only  means  of  pres- 
ervation was  the  general  memory  of  those  who  were  the 
eye-witnesses  of  His  life,  and  the  more  intimate  memory  of 
those  who  loved  Him.  General  memory,  it  must  be  con- 
fessed, is  but  a  loose  phrase,  and  it  may  be  said,  without  the 
least  touch  of  irony,  that  its  biographical  equivalent  is  gen- 
eral inaccuracy.  We  must  distinguish,  however,  before 
making  so  sweeping  a  criticism.  The  general  memory  of  a 
battle,  or  of  a  great  historic  pageant,  or  of  the  impression 
created  by  a  popular  hero,  usually  presents  so  much  of 
diversity  and  disparity  that  it  would  be  in  the  highest 
degree  incautious  to  place  much  reliance  on  it.  The  reason 
is  plain ;  the  individual  spectator  sees  only  one  phase  of  a 
battle,  or  the  fragment  of  a  pageant,  or  a  brief  glimpse  of  a 
great  personage.  Yet  general  memory  is  seldom  inaccurate 
about  main  facts,  though  it  may  be  about  details.  The 
diverse  reports  of  the  conduct  of  such  and  such  a  regiment 
in  a  battle  do  not  lead  us  to  imagine  that  the  battle  never 


INTRODUCTION  13 

happened.  The  various  descriptions  of  a  great  personage, 
widely  as  they  differ,  afford  no  ground  for  the  suspicion  that 
he  never  existed.  When  we  have  made  every  allowance  for 
human  inaccuracy,  there  is  a  solid  mass  of  substantial  truth 
still  left.  We  may  fairly  apply  these  principles  of  criticism 
to  the  life  of  Jesus.  The  general  memory  could  not  be 
deceived  in  the  main  facts  of  His  career.  That  He  lived, 
that  He  taught  the  people  in  many  cities  and  villages  of 
Judea,  that  He  wrought  in  open  daylight,  beneath  the  scru- 
tiny of  many  unfriendly  eyes,  extraordinary  acts  which  were 
regarded  as  miraculous,  that  He  came  into  conflict  with  the 
rulers  of  His  day,  that  He  was  crucified,  dead,  and  buried, 
and  that  in  all  He  did  and  said  He  left  the  impression  of  a 
nature  of  unique  energy,  purity,  and  sweetness — these  are 
matters  beyond  controversy.  When  the  life  of  Jesus  closed, 
and  for  years  afterward,  there  were  multitudes  of  persons 
who  retained  a  more  or  less  exact  impression  of  words  that 
they  had  heard  and  acts  that  they  had  witnessed,  and  these 
impressions  they  were  naturally  eager  to  communicate. 

It  does  not  lesson  the  value  of  such  testimony  to  say  that 
these  witnesses  were  for  the  most  part  persons  of  untrained 
intelligence  and  insignificant  social  station ;  on  the  contrary, 
it  strengthens  it.  There  are  few  persons  with  any  knowledge 
of  rural  life  who  have  not  had  occasion  to  remark  the  ex- 
traordinary tenacity  with  which  the  memory  of  a  peasant 
cherishes  details,  both  significant  and  insignificant,  of  a  dis- 
tant past.  After  a  lapse  of  half  a  lifetime  the  old  field 
laborer  can  recall  what  some  person  of  note  said  to  him,  or 
somo  relatively  trivial  characteristic  of  his  appearance.  The 
very  nature  of  a  peasant's  life,  so  simple,  so  austere  and 
devoid  of  large  interests,  strengthens  and  develops  this  pecul- 
iar kind  of  memory.  With  the  man  who  lives  a  life  full  of 
bustling  energy  impression  overlay c  impression,  till  all  is 


14  INTRODUCTION 

blurred  and  confused.  But  in  the  life  of  a  peasant  impres- 
sions are  so  rare  that  they  assume  abnormal  vividness ;  and 
thus  a  certain  event  or  incident,  which  at  the  time  appeared 
extraordinary,  is  an  indelible  spot  of  light  in  the  grey  gloom 
of  many  monotonous  and  narrow  years. 

The  men  who  saw  most  of  Christ  were  men  of  this  order. 
The  most  thrilling  hour  they  had  ever  known  was  that  in 
which  Christ  addressed  them.  In  many  cases  their  meeting 
with  Christ  had  been  associated  with  some  tragic  or  impres- 
sive incident  which  they  were  not  likely  to  forget — the 
threatened  death  of  a  parent,  the  recovery  from  sickness  of  a 
friend,  the  recall  to  sanity  of  a  demented  child.  Or  perhaps 
it  was  associated  with  an  equally  memorable  joy  of  rare  ad- 
venture, such  as  the  journey  into  the  wilderness  with  a  crowd 
of  excited  followers,  who  listened  entranced  to  One  who  spake 
as  never  man  spake,  and  sat  upon  the  green  grass  in  fifties 
while  He  fed  them.  The  wings  of  wonder  had  hovered  over 
the  grey  lives  of  these  men  for  a  day  and  a  night ;  their 
hearts,  their  imaginations  had  been  strangely  stirred.  Was 
it  likely  that  they  could  forget  ?  Would  they  not  talk  over 
these  things  with  enthusiastic  animation  as  they  took  the 
mountain  path  back  to  remote  villages  and  hamlets,  and  go 
on  talking  of  them  for  years,  the  vision  of  these  illuminated 
days  always  standing  out  bright  and  vivid  to  the  last  ?  Here 
was  material  of  no  unworthy  kind  for  the  biographer.  In 
the  memories  of  such  men  many  a  phrase  used  by  Jesus  was 
embedded,  like  a  diamond  in  a  bed  of  clay.  And  when,  after 
the  death  of  Christ,  a  Christian  Church  grew  up  rapidly  in 
Jerusalem,  and  gathered  its  converts  throughout  the  land 
where  the  Son  of  Man  had  passed,  what  more  natural  thing 
than  that  these  converts  should  compare  notes,  should  bring 
their  recollections  to  swell  a  common  store,  each  man  con- 
tributing some  saying  of  Christ's,  which  the  moment  it  was 


INTRODUCTION  15 

uttered  was  recognized  and  verified  by  the  common  memory, 
until  at  last  there  grew  into  shape  those  memorabilia  of 
Jesus  which  became  the  Gospels  ? 

The  more  intimate  memory  of  personal  friends  would 
afford  much  surer  grounds  for  a  biographer.  We  must  never 
forget  that  during  the  whole  of  His  three  years'  ministry 
Jesus  moved  in  the  constant  companionship  of  a  little  band 
of  adoring  friends.  However  grossly  they  misapprehended 
Him  on  many  points,  the  disciples  had  one  and  all  made 
great  sacrifices  to  ensure  their  intimacy  with  Christ,  and  it 
was  only  natural  they  should  hang  upon  His  words.  Few 
human  friendships  afford  the  opportunity  of  intimate,  un- 
broken intercourse  for  a  space  of  three  years.  Could  we  im- 
agine ourselves  enjoying  such  a  relation  with  some  man  of 
extraordinary  genius  and  charm,  whom  we  not  only  honored 
as  a  teacher  but  loved  with  a  species  of  passion  rare  in 
friendship,  it  would  not  be  wonderful  if  we  retained  indelible 
impressions  of  his  character  and  conversations.  A  memory, 
ordinarily  quick  and  retentive,  would  certainly  be  able  to  re- 
produce at  will  his  more  striking  sayings  and  his  habitual 
modes  of  thought,  to  say  nothing  of  those  episodes  of  action 
which  occasioned  wonder  at  the  time,  and  seemed  yet  more 
wonderful  upon  reflection.  Moreover,  it  appears  to  have 
been  the  habit  of  Jesus  to  go  over  the  same  ground  again 
and  again  in  His  private  conversations  and  public  teachings. 
The  epigrams  in  which  His  spiritual  discoveries  are  crystal- 
lized are  constantly  reiterated.  A  parable  is  often  repeated 
in  a  slightly  different  form,  but  with  a  new  application.  He 
loves  to  express  truths  in  axioms  which  readily  fix  them- 
selves in  the  memory.  And  here,  too,  many  of  His  sayings 
are  associated  with  certain  unforgettable  episodes  of  thought 
and  action ;  with  public  controversies,  with  private  jealousies, 
and  with  places  and  persons,  all  of  which  would  help  in  the 


16  INTRODUCTION 

task  of  definite  recollection.  In  the  main  it  can  scarcely  be 
doubted,  therefore,  that  the  tradition  of  Christ  which  existed 
among  the  disciples  was  peculiarly  clear  and  trustworthy. 
We  may  be  sure  that  the  essential  outlines  of  His  teaching 
and  action  are  correctly  reported,  and  that  we  have  His  chief 
parables,  His  sermons,  and  His  public  controversies  in  the 
authentic  form  which  He  gave  them. 

But  besides  this,  there  would  also  be  a  great  body  of  tradi- 
tion preserved  among  private  friends  who  were  less  officially 
connected  with  the  movement.  In  Mary  of  Bethany  Jesus 
found  a  devoted  friend,  who  gave  Him  what  is  rare  even  in 
the  highest  kind  of  friendship,  the  complete  attention  of  an 
intelligent  and  sympathetic  mind.  In  the  tenth  chapter  of 
Saint  Luke's  Gospel  an  inimitable  picture  is  drawn  of  this 
adoring  woman,  who  sat  at  the  feet  of  Jesus  listening  to  His 
words,  while  her  sister  Martha  was  busy  and  burdened  with 
the  cares  of  hospitality.  We  may  hazard  a  conjecture  that 
when  the  memorabilia  of  Jesus  came  to  be  collected,  one  of 
the  first  places  the  devout  compiler  would  visit  would  be  the 
house  at  Bethany,  where  Jesus  had  tarried  so  often.  Who 
can  estimate  how  much  the  world  owes  of  its  knowledge  of 
Jesus  to  this  woman,  who  had  treasured  His  words,  and  had 
perhaps  taken  notes  of  those  intimate  conversations  in  which 
He  had  opened  the  deep  things  of  His  heart  to  her?  How 
would  phrases  and  passages,  felt  to  be  beautiful  and  signifi- 
cant at  the  time  of  their  utterance,  but  doubly  significant 
now  in  the  light  of  all  that  had  happened,  flash  out  from  a 
memory,  which  desire  of  truth  had  already  quickened  and 
love  had  dedicated  to  the  complete  service  of  Jesus  ?  Here 
was  a  biographer  ready  made ;  a  still,  meditative,  brooding 
woman,  living  an  undistracted  life,  knowing  Jesus  in  the  rela- 
tions of  an  intimacy  at  once  sensitive  and  receptive,  and 
sacredly  jealous  to  preserve  His  lightest  word. 


INTRODUCTION  17 

In  this  connection  another  Mary  must  be  mentioned  also  : 
Mary,  the  Mother  of  Jesus.  We  are  specifically  told  that 
after  the  great  tragedy  of  Calvary  she  lived  in  the  house  of 
John,  and  she  was  certainly  present  at  the  first  meeting  of 
the  infant  Church  in  Jerusalem.  St.  Luke,  who  narrates  the 
proceedings  of  this  first  formal  assembly  of  Christians,  and 
especially  emphasizes  the  presence  of  Mary,  also  gives  us  by 
far  the  fullest  account  of  the  Nativity  of  Jesus.  From  whom 
did  he  receive  these  narratives,  unless  from  Mary  herself? 
Who  else  could  have  told  him  the  pathetic  details  of  the 
journey  to  Bethlehem,  the  tradition  of  the  shepherds  in  the 
fields  who  heard  the  angel  music,  and  all  the  earlier  and  yet 
more  intimate  narrative  of  the  relations  of  Mary  with  Eliza- 
beth, and  the  thoughts  of  Mary  when  first  her  sad  and  gra- 
cious destiny  loomed  clear  before  her  ?  From  her  also  is 
perhaps  derived  the  incident  of  the  address  of  Jesus  to  the 
holy  women  on  the  way  to  Calvary,  and  the  yet  more  touch- 
ing story  of  the  penitent  thief — details  mentioned  by  him 
alone—the  first  of  which  would  certainly  appeal  strongly  to 
a  woman's  heart,  the  second  of  which  Mary,  in  her  closeness 
to  the  cross,  would  have  an  admirable  opportunity  of  observ- 
ing. But  it  is  enough  if  we  accept  these  suggestions  as  in- 
dications of  how  the  Gospels  came  to  be  compiled.  Although 
there  is  no  hint  that  during  the  lifetime  of  Jesus  any  attempt 
at  biography,  or  even  the  notes  for  a  future  biography  was 
made,  yet  there  was  preserved  in  the  memory  of  intimate 
friends  and  among  the  general  public  material  amply  suffi- 
cient for  a  just  and  discriminating  memoir  of  Our  Lord. 

One  other  question  yet  remains  unanswered.  How  far 
can  an  account  of  Christ  compiled  from  such  sources  be 
treated  as  correct  ?  How  far  does  the  idiosyncrasy  of  the 
informant  or  narrator  color  his  narration,  and  deflect  the 
line  of  an  impartial  criticism  ?     Such  questions  may  be  best 


18  INTRODUCTION 

answered  in  the  subsequent  pages  of  this  volume,  as  particu- 
lar occasion  may  arise.  But  it  may  be  at  once  and  frankly 
conceded  that  constant  allowances  must  be  made  in  the  Gos- 
pel narratives  for  the  mental  limitations  of  the  writers,  for 
the  spirit  of  the  time  in  which  they  lived,  and  for  the  rudi- 
mentary knowledge  of  criticism  which  they  possessed.  This 
principle  must  be  constantly  observed  in  any  estimate  we 
may  seek  to  form  of  the  miraculous  element  which  runs 
through  the  Gospels.  Simple  people,  describing  an  extra- 
ordinary occurrence,  will  naturally  speak  of  it  as  miraculous, 
and  due  allowance  must  be  made  for  their  mode  of  expres- 
sion. It  would  not  be  fan*  either  to  receive  or  to  reject  their 
statements  without  criticism ;  implicit  faith  or  brusk  denial 
is  equally  unworthy  of  a  rational  creature.  And,  again,  a 
truly  rational  mind  will  constantly  discriminate  between  one 
alleged  miracle  and  another.  One  will  appear  explicable 
and  another  inex23licable.  In  some  cases  it  is  obvious  that 
a  perfectly  explicable  natural  occurrence  has  been  colored 
by  the  imagination  of  the  narrator.  In  all  cases  it  is  clear 
that  Jesus  Himself  did  not  attach  the  importance  to  miracles 
which  His  followers  did.  He  often  performed  them  with 
reluctance ;  He  regarded  them  as  entirely  collateral  to  His 
teaching;  He  uniformly  discouraged  the  attempt  to  bruit 
them  abroad,  and  to  form  upon  them  a  kind  of  fame  which 
He  despised. 

The  least  competent  reader  of  the  Gospels  will  also  ob- 
serve that  the  various  reports  of  Christ's  words  reveal  con- 
siderable disparities.  For  example,  there  is  very  little  in 
common  between  the  First  and  the  Fourth  Gospel,  so  far  as 
the  literary  spirit  goes.  In  the  Gospel  of  St.  John  the  very 
form  of  Christ's  speech  is  wholly  altered.  Instead  of  that 
epigrammatic  terseness  and  lucidity,  which  gives  to  the  least 
phrase  of  Christ,  as  reported  by  St.  Matthew,  the  fire  and 


INTRODUCTION  19 

brilliance  of  a  jewel,  we  have  long,  involved,  metaphysical 
discourses.  The  simplicity  of  the  Galilean  poet,  always  di- 
rect and  felicitous,  is  exchanged  for  the  academic  subtlety  of 
the  semi-Hellenist  philosopher.  Without  going  so  far  as  to 
say  that  Christ  could  not  have  spoken  in  two  ways  so  utterly 
dissimilar,  we  may  at  least  conclude  that  it  is  wise  to  trust 
Matthew  rather  than  John  as  the  more  competent  and  exact 
biographer.  But  this  is  by  no  means  to  dismiss  John  as  in- 
competent and  untrustworthy.  No  one  supposes  that  the 
dialogues  of  Plato  represent  the  real  conversations  of  Socra- 
tes. They  are  free  renderings  of  those  conversations,  and 
as  such  are  quite  unhistorical ;  yet  undoubtedly  they  are  ad- 
mirable interpretations  of  the  mind  of  Socrates.  John  ren- 
ders a  similar  sendee  to  Jesus.  He  is  an  interpreter  rather 
than  an  historian.  We  miss  the  common  and  habitual 
phrases  of  Christ ;  for  example,  "  the  kingdom  of  God  "  is  a 
phrase  mentioned  many  times  by  St.  Matthew,  but  only  once 
by  St.  John.  Yet  it  may  be  claimed  that  John  expounds  the 
"  inwardness  "  of  Christ  as  no  one  else  attempts  to  do.  We 
can  at  least  say  that  thus  Christ  might  have  spoken,  so  far 
as  ideas  are  concerned;  the  difference  is  of  literary  form 
rather  than  of  essence  and  spirit.  But  whatever  weight  we 
may  attach  to  these  criticisms,  it  is  abundantly  clear  that  it 
never  occurred  to  John  to  subdue  or  obliterate  his  own  in- 
dividuality in  speaking  of  Jesus.  He  wrote  as  he  believed 
honestly,  but  with  a  latitude  that  the  modern  biographer 
would  never  dare  to  claim.  It  is  enough  to  say  that  the 
spirit  of  the  time  permitted  such  a  method,  and  we  must 
make  allowance  for  it. 

But  when  every  possible  allowance  is  made,  one  indisput- 
able result  is  reached,  viz.,  that  the  Gospels  do  succeed  in 
giving  us  a  portrait  of  Jesus,  so  definite  and  impressive,  so 
intrinsically  truthful  and   beautiful,  that  there   is   nothing 


20  INTRODUCTION 

comparable  with  it  in  the  annals  of  human  literature.  From 
whatever  sources  information  is  drawn,  and  whatever  the 
details  of  that  information,  the  consensus  of  testimony  to 
the  perfection  of  Christ's  character  and  life  is  absolute. 
"Whatever  may  be  lacking  in  the  conditions  and  essentials 
of  biography,  the  Four  Gospels  undoubtedly  form  the 
most  beautiful  book  in  the  world,  and  the  most  potent. 
The  manifest  deficiencies,  the  inaccuracies,  the  lack  of 
method,  the  absence  of  chronological  order,  the  apparent 
contradictions,  the  repetitions,  the  omissions  after  all  serve 
a  purpose  quite  unintentional,  in  preventing  the  mere  sus- 
picion of  collusion.  It  is  not  thus  that  men  would  write 
who  had  a  case  to  prove.  A  life  of  Christ  prepared  by  some 
late  council  of  the  Church,  when  the  Church  had  assimilated 
the  leaven  of  political  ambition,  would  certainly  have  sup- 
pressed much  that  the  Evangelists  report  with  uncompromis- 
ing candor.  A  life  of  Christ  as  composed  by  any  man  of 
letters,  accustomed  to  handling  literary  material,  would  no 
doubt  have  been  much  more  lucid,  systematic,  and  intelligi- 
ble. But  the  simple  methods  of  these  unskilled  chroniclers 
did  not  go  beyond  the  compilation  of  memorabilia.  With 
an  entire  absence  of  literary  artifice,  and  yet  with  an  instinc- 
tive art,  they  recall  events  precisely  as  they  appeared  to  the 
people  who  beheld  them.  And  the  result  is  the  most  won- 
derful book  in  human  literature ;  a  wisdom  so  profound  that 
the  mind  of  the  world  has  been  nourished  on  it  for  nineteen 
centuries ;  a  story  so  moving  and  impressive,  that  it  still 
stirs  the  hearts  of  men,  as  no  other  story  ever  did,  or  ever 
will  do ;  the  depiction  of  a  character  so  beautiful  and  lofty, 
that  it  gives  the  standard  and  the  measure  of  all  human  per- 
fectibility, at  once  justifying  men's  sublimest  dreams  and  in- 
terpreting them. 


THE   LIFE   OF   CHRIST 


CHAPTEE  I 

THE   BIETH   AND   EAELY  LIFE   OF  JESUS 

So  much  obscurity  covers  the  early  years  of  Jesus  that  it 
is  difficult  to  fix  with  more  thau  approximate  accuracy  even 
the  date  of  His  birth.  It  was  not  until  the  sixth  century 
that  the  Christian  era  was  definitely  fixed,  upon  what  grounds 
it  is  now  impossible  for  us  to  ascertain.  It  has  even  become 
a  matter  of  controversy  whether  Jesus  was  born  in  Bethle- 
hem, and  the  elaborate  statement  of  St.  Luke,  which  con- 
nects His  birth  with  an  imperial  census,  is  held  by  many  to 
have  been  founded  on  a  misconception.  According  to  Roman 
history  the  census  of  Augustus  took  place  ten  years  later 
than  the  date  fixed  by  St.  Luke.  "Whether  there  was  an 
earlier  census  we  do  not  know.  Quirenius  was  certainly 
Legate  of  Syria  at  the  period  of  the  traditional  date  of 
Christ's  birth,  and  it  is  equally  certain  that  it  was  during 
his  tenure  of  office  that  a  census  was  compiled.  These  dif- 
ficulties of  chronology  will  perhaps  never  be  fully  resolved, 
nor  is  their  solution  of  great  importance.  The  most  that  we 
can  say  is  that  it  seems  unlikely  that  St.  Luke  should  have 
perpetrated  a  gratuitous  blunder,  for  which  there  is  no  ap- 
parent reason  or  excuse  ;  and  it  is  at  least  certain  that  Jesus 
was  born  about  four  years  earlier  than  the  recorded  date. 
Stronger   reasons    than   any  that  have  yet  been  alleged 

21 


22  THE    LIFE    OF   CHRIST 

would  be  necessary  to  discredit  the  distinct  statement  of 
both  St.  Matthew  and  St.  Luke  that  Jesus  was  born  in  Beth- 
lehem. If  we  regard  the  extremely  circumstantial  account 
of  the  Nativity  furnished  by  St.  Luke  as  in  all  probability 
directly  derived  from  Mary  of  Nazareth,  the  inference  is 
irresistible  that  the  last  point  on  which  a  mother  would  be 
likely  to  err  is  the  birthplace  of  her  Child.  It  is  a  matter 
of  legitimate  surprise  that  two  of  the  Evangelists  make  no 
mention  of  Bethlehem,  but  it  is  pushing  inference  beyond  all 
that  is  rational  and  legitimate  to  declare  that  because  St. 
Mark  and  St.  John  give  no  account  of  the  birth  in  Bethlehem 
therefore  they  were  ignorant  of  it.  They  may  have  been 
perfectly  familiar  with  the  tradition,  and  yet  have  regarded 
it  as  unessential  to  the  narrative.  St.  John,  writing  from 
the  point  of  view  of  the  mystic  and  interpreter  of  ideas, 
would  certainly  have  so  regarded  it.  Nor  is  it  fair  to  assume 
that  the  introduction  of  the  Bethlehem  story  was  considered 
necessary  in  order  to  give  authentication  to  the  claim  that 
Jesus  was  of  the  House  of  David.  Such  a  proof  would  have 
seemed  to  the  Jew  no  proof  at  all ;  it  was  a  device  at  once 
puerile  and  foolish.  For  the  Jew,  of  all  men,  was  both  an 
expert  and  a  pedant  in  all  matters  of  genealogy.  To  this 
day  the  Jew  who  may  be  called  upon  to  bless  the  congrega- 
tion in  the  synagogue  inherits  that  right  by  oral  tradition. 
It  is  not  necessary  for  him  to  afford  any  written  proof  of 
descent :  he  knows  that  his  fathers  and  forefathers  blessed 
the  people  before  him  ;  and  this  sure  and  tenacious  memory, 
transmitted  through  many  generations,  is  accepted  as  final. 
Moreover,  St.  Matthew  precedes  his  account  of  the  birth  of 
Christ  with  an  elaborate  genealogical  tree,  concluding  thus  : 
"  So  all  the  generations  from  Abraham  to  David  are  fourteen 
generations  ;  and  from  David  unto  the  carrying  away  into 
Babylon  are  fourteen  generations ;   and  from  the  carrying 


BIRTH  AND  EARLY  LIFE  OF  JESUS  23 

away  into  Babylon  until  Christ  are  fourteen  generations." 
Si  Luke,  with  a  yet  bolder  pen,  concludes  the  genealogy  of 
Jesus  with  an  immortal  phrase:  "Which  was  the  son  of 
Adam,  which  was  the  Son  of  God."  After  statements  so 
daring  and  precise  as  these,  it  is  nonsense  to  suppose  that 
the  journey  to  Bethlehem  was  invented  simply  to  prove  Jesus 
of  the  lineage  of  David,  and  therefore  in  line  with  Messianic 
prophecy.  He  Himself  claimed  to  be  the  Son  of  David,  He 
was  repeatedly  hailed  as  such  by  the  populace,  and  that 
claim  was  not  disputed.  It  was  not  necessary  to  invent  the 
Bethlehem  episode  in  order  to  conciliate  Jewish  prejudice, 
for  no  Jew  was  likely  to  be  deceived  by  a  fabrication  so  con- 
temptible. Moreover,  by  the  time  that  the  Gospels  came  to 
be  written  Jesus  has  ceased  to  be  regarded  as  a  Jew ;  He 
was  known  by  the  sublime  and  catholic  titles  of  the  Son  of 
Man,  and  the  Son  of  God. 

The  stories  which  cluster  round  the  Nativity  of  Jesus  are 
full  of  idyllic  charm.  The  exquisite  story  of  the  shepherds 
in  the  fields  by  night,  who  hear  a  wind-borne  music  in  the 
starry  sky,  is  St.  Luke's  alone ;  on  the  other  hand,  St. 
Matthew  only  relates  the  striking  episode  of  the  visit  of  the 
Magians,  guided  by  a  star  to  the  presence  of  the  young  Child. 
A  common  idea  is  expressed  in  both  these  stories,  viz.,  the 
existence  of  some  celestial  commotion  over  a  terrestrial  event 
of  the  highest  consequence  to  man.  The  Oriental  mind, 
steeped  in  the  spirit  of  symbolism,  and  keenly  sensitive  to 
what  may  be  called  the  ghostly  element  in  the  material 
universe,  would  perceive  nothing  incongruous  in  this  idea. 
A  belief  in  starry  influences  was  common  not  only  among 
the  peoples  of  the  East,  but  among  many  races  of  the  West. 
The  Magians  had  developed  this  belief  into  a  science.  The 
horoscope  of  man  was  WTitten  in  the  heavens  ;  the  stars  wrere 
the  signals  of  fate ;  the  life  of  every  man  was  forecast  and 


24  THE    LIFE    OF   CHRIST 

foredoomed,  a  humble  mechanism  obscuring  a  mightier 
mechanism,  a  tiny  wheel  in  the  great  timepiece  of  Eternity, 
acting  in  unison  with  central  forces.  It  is,  perhaps,  worth 
notice  that  the  researches  of  Kepler  ascertained  that  in  the 
year  of  Christ's  birth  a  bright  evanescent  star,  of  consider- 
able magnitude  did,  in  all  probability,  appear  between 
Jupiter  and  Saturn.  Such  a  phenomenon  would  be  sure  to 
attract  attention,  to  excite  awe,  and  to  quicken  emotion  and 
imagination.  Moreover,  at  this  period  a  certain  restlessness 
of  thought  was  general.  It  was  not  confined  to  the  Jews, 
though  perhaps  among  them  it  was  most  active.  A  common 
presentiment  of  change,  of  events  expected,  yet  unknown, 
filled  all  nations.  Certain  passages  of  the  writings  of  Virgil 
are  very  remarkable  as  expressions  of  this  temper ;  they  may 
almost  claim  to  be  Messianic  prophecies.  In  Jerusalem 
there  were  men  like  Simeon,  and  women  like  Anna,  who 
waited  for  the  consolation  of  Israel,  with  a  deepening  con- 
viction that  the  hour  was  near.  The  vibrations  of  an  im- 
mense hope  ran  through  the  world ;  the  wind  of  dawn  was 
already  breathing  through  the  darkness.  What  men  expect 
they  always  are  prepared  to  see ;  and  it  is  by  no  means  sur- 
prising that  Persian  astrologers  and  simple  Syrian  shepherds 
alike,  thrilled  and  stung  to  ecstasy  by  this  inarticulate  hope, 
should  read  and  hear  its  messages  in  the  midnight  sky. 

On  that  starry  night  two  fugitives  from  Nazareth,  them- 
selves conscious  not  only  of  an  awful  hope  but  of  an  ineluc- 
table force  of  fate  that  held  their  feet  in  an  appointed  way, 
climbed  the  limestone  hill  of  Bethlehem.  It  was  the  season 
of  early  spring,  probably  toward  the  close  of  February ;  for 
at  an  earlier  date  than  this  it  would  not  have  been  possible 
for  shepherds  to  spend  the  night  on  the  open  hillside  with 
their  flocks.  The  country  through  which  these  fugitives 
passed  in  the  last  stage  of  their  journey  is  full  of  pastoral 


BIRTH  AND  EARLY  LIFE  OF  JESUS  25 

sweetness  and  charm.  The  town  of  Bethlehem,  sitting 
squarely  on  its  terraced  height,  surrounded  with  fig-trees  and 
olive-orchards,  still  retains  unaltered  its  outstanding  features. 
It  is  a  long  grey  cluster  of  houses,  with  no  pretence  of  archi- 
tecture, a  typical  Syrian  hill-town.  At  its  base  is  the  tomb 
of  Rachel,  the  pathetic  memorial  of  a  man's  love,  of  a 
woman's  travail  and  untimely  death.  Doubly  significant 
would  that  tomb  appear  to  this  woman,  whose  hour  had 
come ;  one  can  fancy  the  sidelong,  tearful  look  of  fear  with 
which  she  would  regard  it.  But  there  was  more  than  fear  in 
the  heart  of  Mary  that  night.  Slight  as  is  the  memorial  of 
her,  yet  it  is  deeply  suggestive  of  the  sweetness  of  her  na- 
ture, and  especially  of  her  devout  piety  of  heart.  Perhaps 
it  was  Ruth  she  remembered  that  night  rather  than  Rachel- 
Ruth,  the  Moabitess,  driven  into  Bethlehem  by  misfortune 
and  calamity,  to  find  herself  the  unexpected  mother  of  a  race 
of  kings.  Nor  would  she  forget  the  ancient  prophecy  of 
Micah,  that  little  as  Bethlehem  was  among  the  thousands  of 
Judah,  yet  out  of  it  should  come  One  who  should  be  the 
"  Ruler  of  Israel,  whose  goings  forth  have  been  from  of  old, 
from  everlasting."  But  Avhatever  portents  others  saw  in  the 
Syrian  sky  that  night,  Mary  saw  none.  Among  the  crowd  of 
travelers,  driven  hither  by  a  strange,  almost  unintelligible 
command,  she  stood  alone,  confused,  unrecognized.  It  was 
an  unforeseen  and  painful  end  of  a  journey  full  of  sadness 
and  alarm.  No  door  was  opened  to  the  weary,  suffering 
woman,  not  because  the  fine  traditional  hospitality  of  the  Jew 
had  failed,  but  because  already  every  house  was  crowded  to 
excess.  There  was  no  place  of  refuge  for  her  but  a  rough 
chamber,  hewn  in  the  limestone  rock,  and  used  as  a  stable. 
In  that  last  refuge  of  the  destitute  there  was  born  a  few  hours 
later  the  Child,  who  by  Hi*  poverty  was  to  make  many 
rich. 


26  THE    LIFE    OF   CHRIST 

The  story  of  the  Magi,  idyllic  as  it  is,  is  obviously  intro- 
duced by  St.  Matthew  for  a  direct  historical  purpose.  Their 
visit,  in  rousing  the  suspicion  and  alarm  of  Herod,  had  an 
immediate  influence  on  the  early  life  of  Jesus.  The  very 
form  of  their  question,  "  Where  is  He  that  is  born  King  of 
the  Jews  ?  "  would  naturally  excite  a  despot  so  unscrupulous 
and  superstitious  as  Herod ;  and  his  reprisal  is  the  massacre 
of  the  innocents.  In  all  that  follows  Matthew  sees  the  ful- 
fillment of  prophecy.  What  is  prophecy  ?  It  is  two  things 
— forth-telling  and  fore-telling.  The  prophets  were  in  the 
main  forth-tellers,  the  great  burden  of  whose  message  was 
the  exposition  of  moral  and  spiritual  truth.  But  ever  and 
again,  in  some  condition  of  ecstasy,  they  saw  the  clouds  clear 
from  the  sky  of  the  future,  and  caught  momentary  glimpses 
of  a  light  upon  the  far-off  hills  of  Time.  They  saw,  as  men 
see  in  dreams,  places,  cities,  countries,  august  figures,  and 
movements,  strangely  vivid  and  real,  and  yet  built  of  lumi- 
nous mist  and  shadow  only,  and  they  felt  the  incommunicable 
thrill  of  advancing  destinies.  They  had  only  a  limited  com- 
prehension of  their  own  words.  They  were  unable  to  attach 
any  entirely  definite  meaning  to  them.  They  spoke  as  men 
"  in  clear  dream  and  solemn  vision  "  speak,  with  vagueness, 
yet  with  a  thrilling  accent  of  conviction.  It  is  not  necessary 
to  suppose  that  Hosea  had  any  actual  vision  of  Christ  in 
Egypt,  or  Jeremiah  any  exact  prevision  of  what  events  would 
make  Rama  a  place  of  mourning.  Nor  can  we  suppose  any 
deliberate  effort  on  the  part  of  Joseph  and  Mary  to  shape 
their  Child's  life  upon  the  plan  of  Messianic  prophecy,  which. 
would  of  course  have  been  collusion.  Matthew  rather  en- 
deavors to  illustrate  these  compulsions  of  Providence  which 
touch  every  life,  those  relations  of  acts  which  seem  intimately 
our  own  with  higher  forces,  that  control  them  by  a  superior 
gravity.     In  a  word,  it  is  not  the  veracity  of  the  prophets 


BIRTH  AND  EARLY  LIFE  OF  JESUS  27 

which  lie  seeks  to  prove,  but  the  sovereignty  of  God.  Mys- 
tically propelled,  hither  and  thither,  now  by  the  compulsion 
of  events,  and  now  by  inner  voices  of  intuition  that  suggest 
angelic  interferences,  the  Child  and  His  parents  suffer  and 
do  certain  preappointed  things,  until  at  last  they  return  to 
Nazareth,  which  for  nearly  thirty  years  is  to  be  the  home  of 
Jesus. 

For  one  who  was  to  be  a  poet  and  interpreter  of  Nature  no 
better  home  could  have  been  found  than  Nazareth.  While 
it  can  scarcely  be  said  that  its  situation  is  unrivaled  in  a 
country  which  displays  at  intervals  almost  every  type  of  nat- 
ural beauty,  yet  it  may  be  fairly  claimed  that  it  ranks  among 
the  loveliest  spots  of  Palestine.  Standing  itself  in  a  green 
hollow  of  the  hills,  it  is  close  to  the  edge  of  a  wide  plateau, 
which  commands  enchanting  prospects.  In  the  foreground 
rise  the  hills  of  Gilboa,  the  historic  land  of  Shechem,  and 
Mount  Tabor,  the  most  exquisitely  shaped  of  all  the  hills  of 
Palestine.  On  the  west  is  Mount  Carmel ;  to  the  east  the 
valley  of  the  Jordan  opens ;  northward  lies  the  sea.  That 
aspect  of  neglect  and  desolation,  which  to-day  makes  so  many 
parts  of  Palestine  a  keen  disappointment  to  the  traveler,  is 
nowhere  found  in  the  neighborhood  of  Nazareth.  Along  its 
western  side  many  valleys  lie,  as  green  and  smiling  as  the 
far-famed  Yale  of  Tempo.  Nowhere  is  the  atmosphere  more 
lucid,  the  general  configuration  of  the  scenery  more  impres- 
sive.    A  cheerful  fertility  is  its  characteristic  note. 

Nazareth,  in  common  with  most  Syrian  towns,  presents  to 
Western  eyes  an  aspect  of  poverty.  This  poverty  is,  how- 
ever, more  apparent  than  real.  The  Jew  of  Christ's  day,  ex- 
cept when  influenced  by  Roman  example,  paid  scant  attention 
to  domestic  architecture.  He  cared  for  neither  the  elegan- 
cies nor  the  display  of  wealth.  Social  distinctions  of  course 
existed,  but  they  were  not  harshly  pressed  nor  made  too  ap- 


28  THE    LIFE    OF   CHRIST 

parent.  The  original  patriarchal  spirit  of  the  people  had  set* 
tied  the  common  life  on  broad  and  tolerant  democratic  lines. 
That  difficulty  of  approach  between  the  rich  and  the  poor, 
which  is  engendered  by  a  wide  disparity  in  the  scale  and 
method  of  life,  has  not  to-day,  and  had  not  in  Christ's  day, 
any  existence  in  Nazareth.  The  little  town  showed  none  of 
those  startling  contrasts  with  which  we  are  familiar  in  mod- 
ern life — the  close  contiguity  of  luxury  and  want,  of  silk  and 
rags,  of  the  palace  and  the  hovel.  The  richest  man  in  Naz- 
areth would  dwell  in  a  house  not  strikingly  dissimilar  from 
that  occupied  by  the  poorest.  The  natural  wants  of  life  were 
few  and  easily  supplied ;  the  artificial  needs,  which  tormented 
and  corrupted  Roman  life  and  at  last  became  a  mania,  did 
not  exist.  At  a  distance  of  only  five  hours'  journey  lay  the 
Lake  of  Galilee,  which  in  Christ's  day  had  become  a  Syrian 
Baia3,  adorned  by  every  extravagance  of  Roman  luxury. 
Temples,  palaces,  and  many  splendid  public  buildings  lined 
those  shores,  to-day  so  silent  and  deserted ;  amid  groves  of 
palm  and  tropical  gardens  rose  the  villas  of  the  rich ;  pleas- 
ure barges  and  hundreds  of  fishing-boats  moved  on  those 
quiet  waters ;  here  life  was  seen  in  all  its  arrogance  and 
pomp.  But  this  new  spirit  of  display  had  not  invaded  Naz- 
areth. Secluded  in  its  amphitheatre  of  hills  the  little  town 
remained  true  to  patriarchal  and  democratic  ideals.  Its  peo- 
ple lived  a  simple  and  sufficing  life,  much  of  it  spent  in  the 
open  air,  much  of  it  in  kindly  gossip.  No  one  would  think 
of  scorning  the  young  Jesus  because  He  was  a  workman's 
Child,  or  looking  down  upon  His  parents  because  they  hap- 
pened to  be  humble  folk.  In  this  at  least  He  was  happy, 
His  childhood  knew  nothing  of  the  reproach  and  social  dis- 
abilities of  poverty. 

The  pastoral  simplicity  of  this  Nazarene  life  left  indelible 
traces  on  the  mind  of  Jesus.     One  of  the  most  charming 


BIRTH  AND  EARLY  LIFE  OF  JESUS  29 

features  of  His  early  teachings  is  their  homely  truth.  He 
speaks  of  leaven  hid  in  a  bushel  of  meal,  of  women  grinding 
at  the  mill,  of  sowing  and  reaping,  of  flowers  and  birds,  of  a 
hundred  sights  and  sounds,  episodes  and  small  adventures, 
of  rural  life.  It  is  a  peasant's  characteristic  view  of  life,  and 
all  the  sweeter  for  its  accent  of  intimacy  and  experience. 
Much  of  this  hidden  life  of  Christ  may  be  discovered  in  these 
parables  and  teachings.  The  good  housewife  baking  bread, 
or  searching  diligently  for  a  lost  piece  of  silver,  surely  has 
besides  her  a  young  Boy,  who  watches  her  with  serious  eyes 
and  kindling  interest.  The  selfish  householder,  refusing  to 
come  down  and  open  the  door  to  the  benighted  traveler,  is 
some  churlish  Nazarene,  whose  harsh  voice  reached  a  wake- 
ful Child,  lying  happy  at  His  mother's  side.  He  who  spoke 
of  weather  signs  to  those  who  saw  not  the  signs  of  the  times, 
had  often  watched  the  evening  sky  aflame  behind  Mount 
Carmel.  The  only  life  He  knew  with  accuracy  was  the  life 
of  the  poor — a  life  modest,  contented,  and  laborious.  The 
only  pleasures  He  knew  were  the  simple  pleasures  of  the 
poor.  The  larger  and  more  complex  life  of  men  in  great 
cities  habitually  repels  Him.  His  entire  indifference  to 
riches  sprang  from  a  conviction  to  which  His  early  life  gave 
the  authority  of  a  principle,  that  the  highest  dignity  of 
thought  is  consonant  with  the  greatest  humility  of  circum- 
stance. Under  these  lowly  roofs  of  Nazareth  He  framed  the 
highest  philosophy  of  life  that  man  has  ever  known ;  in  con- 
stant converse  with  its  people  He  learned  the  secrets  of  the 
human  heart;  and  up  these  stony  paths,  to  the  breezy 
heights  above  the  town,  He  often  passed,  to  find  Himself 
alone  with  the  sublimities  of  Nature,  and  to  realize  the  pres- 
ence of  the  Highest  in  the  passing  shows  of  earth  and  sky. 

Secluded  as  Nazareth  was,  it  must  not,  however,  be  im- 
agiued  that  it  was  wholly  cut  off  from  all  intercourse  with 


30  THE    LIFE    OF   CHRIST 

the  outer  world.  Jerusalem  itself  was  but  three  days'  jour- 
ney, and,  as  we  have  seen,  all  the  pagan  splendors  of  the  Sea 
of  Galilee,  renamed  Tiberias,  from  the.  imposing  city  which 
Herod  was  then  rearing  on  its  shore,  was  but  five  hours  dis- 
tant. One  of  the  great  caravan  routes  to  Damascus  passed 
through  the  town ;  others  were  contiguous.  One  can  only 
conjecture,  not  wholly  without  probability,  that  these  cara- 
vans may  have  dropped  some  seeds  of  wider  truth  and 
knowledge  into  the  receptive  mind  of  Jesus.  They  per- 
formed a  part  in  the  dissemination  of  ideas  much  as  our  own 
railways  do.  Echoes  of  a  larger  thought  came  with  them  ; 
strange  whisperings,  it  may  be,  of  the  dying  faiths  of  Egypt, 
or  of  the  living  faiths  of  India  and  the  further  East.  More- 
over, the  population  of  the  province  was  composed  of  many 
elements.  It  included  not  merely  Romans,  but  Greeks, 
Arabs,  and  Phoenicians.  In  a  caravan  were  to  be  found  not 
only  merchants,  but  a  sprinkling  of  scholars,  philosophers, 
searchers  after  truth,  and  citizens  of  the  world.  In  the  study 
of  a  new  system  of  truth  we  are  bound  to  analyze  the  com- 
ponent elements,  and  these  elements  are  usually  various. 
The  resemblance  between  many  things  in  Christian  thought 
and  the  religious  system  of  these  ancient  civilizations  is  very 
marked.  In  the  Egyptian  conception  of  God  as  light,  in  its 
doctrine  of  the  soul  and  immortality,  in  its  ethical  instruc- 
tions— the  value  of  sanctity,  the  need  for  purification  that  the 
soul  may  approach  God,  and  the  singular  use  of  the  term 
"justified  before  God" — we  see  gleams,  and  more  than 
gleams  of  Christian  truth.  Still  more  wonderful  is  the  cen- 
tral concept  of  Egyptian  theology  of  a  Son  of  God,  dead, 
buried,  and  risen  again.  Buddhism,  in  the  same  way,  an- 
ticipates Christianity  "  in  its  universalism  and  ethical  char- 
acter ; "  in  its  primary  insistence  that  "  all  men  may  be 
saved,  and  that  they  are  saved  not  at  all  by  outward  rites  or 


BIRTH  AND  EARLY  LIFE  OF  JESUS  31 

mechanical  performance,  but  by  themselves  being  emanci- 
pated from  inward  evil."  And  the  spirit  of  Buddha's  life  in 
its  boundless  self-sacrifice  and  piety  is  the  spirit  of  the  life 
of  Christ.  Resemblances  so  striking  as  these  can  be  scarcely 
accidental.     They  are,  at  least,  profoundly  suggestive. 

New  truths  rarely  arise  in  the  human  mind  by  mere  intuition. 
There  is  almost  always  some  process  of  innoculation,  some 
tiny  germ  planted  silently,  it  may  seem  by  chance,  which  in 
due  course  is  quickened  into  life.  The  biographer  of  Jesus 
has  to  account  for  thirty  hidden  years.  When  once  these 
fugitive  Galileans  have  passed  into  Nazareth  the  curtain 
drops,  and  the  wonder-story  is  broken  off  sharply  and  finally. 
We  hear  no  more  of  portents  in  the  sky,  of  the  enmity  of 
sovereigns,  of  the  curiosity  of  pilgi'ims.  No  one  appears  to 
have  asked  a  single  question  about  the  future  of  the  Child 
whose  birth  had  aroused  such  memorable  interest.  Had  any 
pilgrim,  inspired  by  either  enmity  or  curiosity,  desired  to 
find  Him  the  course  was  easy,  the  clues  of  discovery  were  at 
hand.  At  the  close  of  these  hidden  years  the  Son  of  Mary, 
whose  birth-story  is  already  half  forgotten,  or  cherished  only 
as  a  legend  in  a  few  pious  hearts,  suddenly  emerges  into 
fame  as  the  most  daring  religious  thinker  of  His  time.  He 
speaks  out  of  the  fulness  of  a  mind  profound,  original,  and 
devout.  He  commands  horizons  of  thought  and  aspiration 
undreamed  of  by  the  Jew.  The  greatest  religious  thinkers 
of  His  day  pale  their  ineffectual  fires  before  His  new-risen 
splendors.  How  can  we  account  for  this  extraordinary  de- 
velopment in  One  who  lived  remote  from  the  great  centres  of 
thought,  and  ignorant  of  the  higher  branches  of  the  fastidi- 
ous religious  culture  of  His  day  ?  Manifestly  we  are  driven 
back  upon  conjecture.  We  remember  the  many  curious  proc- 
esses by  which  the  seeds  of  new  thought  are  distributed  in 
days  when  many  minds  are  occupied  by  common  problems 


32  THE   LIFE   OF   CHRIST 

of  religion.  We  are  bound  to  consider  the  possibilities  of 
such  thought  finding  its  way  into  Nazareth.  And  hence 
there  grows  within  the  mind  a  picture  of  the  serious  Child 
mingling  with  many  men  of  strange  speech  who  halted  with 
the  caravans  in  the  market-place  of  Nazareth,  ever  curious 
and  attentive  with  the  eagerness  of  an  opening  and  hungry 
mind,  and  finding  in  chance  phrases,  in  some  pregnant  word 
of  traveling  philosopher  or  priest,  clues  and  suggestions 
which  gave  an  unsuspected  bias  to  His  own  widening 
thought. 

Once  only  is  the  curtain  lifted  from  those  hidden  years. 
St.  Luke  narrates  a  journey  which  the  family  made  to  Jeru- 
salem when  Jesus  was  twelve  years  old,  and  it  is  chiefly  re- 
markable for  the  impression  it  conveys  of  Christ's  early  ma- 
turity of  mind.  We  find  Him  questioning  the  doctors  of 
the  Temple  with  such  acuteness  that  they  were  astonished 
at  His  understanding.  We  find  also  sonic  presentiment  of 
His  vocation  already  working  in  the  Boy's  mind ;  He  must 
be  about  His  Father's  business.  The  conclusion  of  the 
story  is  that  Jesus  returned  to  Nazareth  and  was  subject 
unto  His  parents.  But  between  boyhood  and  mature  man- 
hood a  wide  space  intervenes.  Surely  this  was  not  the  only 
journey  Jesus  made — the  single  and  solitary  excursion  of 
thirty  years.  In  the  days  of  youth  the  blood  is  full  of  wan- 
dering and  restless  instincts.  Then,  if  at  all,  the  feet  are 
drawn  into  the  paths  of  travel.  Did  Jesus  in  those  years 
turn  His  face  toward  the  further  East,  cradle  and  centre  of 
all  religions  ?  Is  the  prophecy  of  Hosea,  "  Out  of  Egypt 
have  I  called  my  Son,"  capable  of  a  wider  and  more  accurate 
interpretation  than  St,  Matthew  gives  it  ?  Is  it  permissible 
to  imagine  the  young  Carpenter  of  Nazareth,  armed  with  the 
tools  of  His  craft,  wandering  among  the  palms  and  temples 
of  other  countries  than  His  own,  in  which  religion  still  re- 


BIRTH  AND  EARLY  LIFE  OF  JESUS  33 

tained  the  spirit  of  mysticism  long  lost  in  the  chilly  Pharis- 
aic formalism  of  Judea  ?  In  some  caravan,  moving  slowly 
over  those  violet  hills  at  dawn,  was  He  found,  who  latterly 
conceived  Himself  as  one  with  a  mission  for  the  whole 
world?  We  can  but  follow  the  faint  pencilings  of  conjec- 
ture on  such  a  theme,  and  yet  there  is  nothing  in  the  known 
story  of  the  youth  of  Christ  to  forbid  such  conjectures.  The 
intellectual  and  spiritual  development  of  Jesus  must  always 
remain  a  mystery ;  but  any  suggestion,  not  inherently  im- 
possible or  irreverent,  that  may  help  us  to  comprehend  the 
process  of  that  development  should  be  welcomed. 

On  one  matter,  however,  there  cannot  be  the  slighest 
doubt :  Jesus  was  trained  in  a  devout  Jewish  household. 
He  would  be  taught  the  Shema,  a  sort  of  elementary  Jewish 
catechism,  by  His  mother  as  soon  as  he  could  speak.  He 
would  know  the  Psalms  by  heart,  and  would  attend  the  ex- 
positions of  the  Law  in  the  synagogue  at  Nazareth.  The 
rule  of  minute  religious  instruction  in  a  Jewish  home  was 
fixed  and  invariable,  and  it  afforded  a  noble  scheme  of  edu- 
cation. The  great  histories  of  the  Bible  would  be  singularly 
real  and  vivid  to  a  youth  who  looked  daily  on  the  plains 
where  Abraham  dwelt,  the  hill  that  was  the  scene  of  Elijah's 
sacrifice,  and  the  mountains  where  Saul  perished.  Great 
historic  traditions,  magnificent  expressions  of  spiritual  aspir- 
ation, firm  and  clear  statements  of  ethical  truth,  were  the 
food  on  which  the  mind  and  soul  of  Jesus  thrived.  Slowly 
His  mind  came  to  a  knowledge  of  its  own  compass,  force, 
and  originality.  And  slowly,  also,  the  presentiment  of  voca- 
tion, of  which  the  Child's  visit  to  Jerusalem  affords  an  en- 
chanting glimpse,  deepened  into  a  sense  of  destiny,  Nazareth 
gave  Him  precisely  that  "  shelter  to  grow  ripe,"  that  "  leisure 
to  grow  wise,"  so  necessary,  but  so  rarely  granted  to  those 
whose  high  fate  it  is  to  speak  to  the  inmost  heart  of  man,  or 
3 


34  THE   LIFE   OF   CHRIST 

shape  his  progress ;  and  to  the  last  the  restfulness  of  those 
days  clung  to  Him  like  a  fragrance,  producing  in  the  minds 
of  all  who  knew  Him  an  impression  of  fathomless  serenity, 
of  peace  inscrutable  and  infinite. 


CHAPTER  H 

JOHN  THE    BAPTIST 

The  years  spent  at  Nazareth,  quiet  and  unmemorable  as 
they  seemed  in  outward  events,  must  have  been  characterized 
by  much  inward  stress  of  spirit.  All  growth  is  painful,  and 
it  is  only  through  contention  and  dubiety  of  mind  that  th* 
soul  finds  the  full  compass  of  its  powers.  He  who  pictures 
these  hidden  years  at  Nazareth  as  a  perfect  idyll  of  peace 
and  contentment  is  surely  forgetful  of  the  normal  processes 
by  which  unusual  genius  is  developed.  Men  of  genius  have 
rarely  been  comprehended  by  their  relations,  and  then*  de- 
velopment has  usually  been  marked  by  variance  and  colli- 
sion. One  of  the  sadly  wise  sayings  of  Jesus  was  that  a 
prophet  has  no  honor  in  his  own  country,  and  it  is  doubt- 
less reminiscent  of  His  own  experience.  Other  events 
showed  that  His  own  brothers — or  step-brothers,  as  they 
probably  were — and  even  His  mother,  failed  to  understand 
His  aims.  With  all  the  exquisite  sweetness  of  His  disposi- 
tion there  was  united  a  force  and  daring  of  temper  that  must 
have  been  extremely  disconcerting  to  these  simple-minded 
friends  and  kinsfolk.  The  rising  stream  of  new  religious 
life  was  already  beginning  to  submerge  the  old  landmarks  of 
Mosaic  tradition.  Teachers  like  Hillel  and  Philo  were  ut- 
tering axioms  which  Jesus  was  hereafter  to  fashion  into  a 
new  ethical  revelation.  Quickened  by  the  growing  life  within 
Him,  stimulated  by  the  new  life  around  Him,  Jesus  must 

often  have  spoken  His  mind  to  this  humble  audience  in 

35 


36  THE    LIFE    OF   CHRIST 

Nazareth,  in  such  a  way  as  to  excite  their  indignation  and 
their  fear.  They  probably  regarded  Him  as  a  freethinker 
whose  genius  was  His  peril.  It  was  so,  many  centuries 
later,  that  Sj)inosa,  the  most  "  God-inebriated  "  of  all  modern 
Jewish  minds,  was  regarded  by  his  contemporaries ;  and  the 
theological  animus  of  the  conventional  Jew  is  something  that 
centuries  cannot  change. 

How  many  times  did  Jesus  climb  those  stony  paths  to  the 
broad  plateau  above  Nazareth  that  He  might  escape  house- 
hold contention,  and  find  Himself  alone  in  the  healing  silen- 
ces of  Nature  ?  How  many  times  was  the  heart  of  Mary 
pierced  by  the  sword  of  a  great  fear  as  she  watched  the 
strange  unfolding  a  of  mind  whose  subtlety  and  depth  she 
could  not  comprehend  ?  That  these  things  really  happened 
we  need  no  Gospel  to  assure  us.  Nothing  is  more  remark- 
able in  Christ  than  that  from  the  moment  of  His  public  min- 
istry He  has  nothing  to  learn.  There  is  no  doubling  back 
upon  the  path  of  truth,  no  hesitation ;  for  Him  the  problem 
is  solved.  But  this  perfect  finish  of  mind  must  needs  have 
had  its  processes,  and  of  these  processes  Nazareth  was  the 
theatre.  The  prime  effort  of  His  life  was  to  settle  religion 
on  a  broad  and  true  base.  To  do  so  much  that  the  Jew  re- 
garded as  essential  to  piety  had  to  be  set  aside  as  trivial. 
Customs  to  which  tradition  had  given  the  sanctity  of  duties, 
traditions  which  had  usurped  the  place  of  truths,  had  to  be 
disregarded.  Full  truth  is  only  reached  by  iconoclasm. 
The  strain  of  spirit  in  such  intellectual  adventures  is  great ; 
their  effect  upon  others  who  only  partly  comprehend  is  dis- 
ruptive and  full  of  pain.  And  it  was  by  such  disciplines  as 
these  that  Jesus  reached  His  full  development  of  mind. 
Side  by  side  with  much  that  was  idyllic  in  the  life  at  Naza- 
reth ran  sequences  of  suffering,  reaching  onward  to  the 
tragic. 


JOHN    THE    BAPTIST  37 

Many  times  Jesus  must  have  asked,  in  those  long 
meditations  on  the  hills  of  Nazareth,  why  it  was  He 
waited,  for  what  it  was  He  waited,  and  when  the  call  to 
public  sendee  would  prove  irresistible.  They  were  not  the 
questions  of  an  ambitious  mind,  but  of  a  mind  keenly  con- 
scious of  advancing  destiny.  These  questions  were  now 
about  to  be  answered,  and  the  patiently  awaited  sign  was  to 
be  given. 

In  the  fifteenth  year  of  the  reign  of  the  Emperor  Tiberias 
there  arose  in  the  deserts  of  Judea,  lying  between  Kedron 
and  the  Dead  Sea,  a  young  preacher  of  singular  individuality 
and  force  by  the  name  of  John.     He  at  once  attracted  atten- 
tion as  much  by  the  manner  of  his  life  as  by  his  message. 
It  is  characteristic  of  the  voluptuousness  of  the  Oriental 
mind  that  it  is  constantly  regulated  by  a  strong  ascetic  tend- 
ency.    Strange  and  even  fearful  abstinences  are  practiced  in 
the  East  to-day,  and  those  who  practice  them  are  esteemed 
holy.     John  had  from  his  boyhood  been  trained  in  the  most 
austere  ascetism.     He  had  elected  to  live  in  the  desert,  not 
far  from  the  shore  of  the  Dead  Sea,  where  at  that  time  many 
anchorites  dwelt.     He  is  vividly  described  to  us  as  wearing 
raiment  of   camel's  hair,  with  a  leathern   girdle  upon  his 
loins — the   traditional  dress   of   Elijah — and  feeding   upon 
locusts  and  wild  honey.     Far  from  the  false  and  fevered  life 
of  cities,  living  amid  scenes  of  incomparable  desolation  and 
sterility,  finding  in  them  a  school  of  solitude  and  discipline, 
John  nursed  the  fires  of  a  passionate  and  impetuous  spirit. 
None  of  the  sweet  influences  of  nature  were  here,  and  had 
they  been  they  would  have  made  no  appeal  to  him.     The 
land  was  not  only  savage  in  itself,  but  it  seemed  scarred  and 
bruised  by  the  hand  of  visible  judgments  that  had  passed 
over  it.     And  as  the  scene  was,  so  was  the  man.     He  was 
virile,  terrible,  untameable,  a  true  son  of  the  wilderness,  into 


38  THE    LIFE    OF   CHRIST 

whose  blood  all  the  harshness  arid  grandeur  of  the  desert 
had  entered. 

Such  a  life  had  nothing  in  it  distinctly  Jewish.  There  has 
never  been  upon  the  earth  a  creature  more  enamored  of  ma- 
terial comfort  than  the  Jew.  The  smiling  aspects  of  nature, 
the  land  flowing  with  milk  and  honey,  he  loved ;  but  the 
desert  he  abhorred.  Jewish  religion  is  also  in  itself  the 
most  social  of  all  religions.  Many  of  its  most  sacred  func- 
tions are  scarcely  distinguishable  from  family  festivals.  It 
is  a  religion  of  geniality,  making  much  of  domestic  affec- 
tions, and  keenly  sensitive  to  the  joyousness  of  life.  In 
short,  the  Jew  by  nature  and  habit  finds  ascetism  repugnant, 
and  it  is  therefore  somewhat  remarkable  that  such  a  life  as 
John's  should  have  excited  popular  sympathy. 

There  is,  however,  a  reason  for  this  sympathy,  which  had 
its  root  in  one  of  the  greatest  periods  of  Jewish  history.  If 
we  except  Moses,  who  was  the  real  founder  of  the  nation, 
there  is  no  man  in  Jewish  history  whose  fame  stands  so  high 
as  Elijah's.  What  story  is  there  so  thrilling,  so  impressive, 
at  times  so  overwhelmingly  dramatic,  as  the  story  of  this 
Bedouin  of  the  desert,  sweeping  down  in  fire  and  thundei 
from  the  caves  of  Carmel,  to  subdue  kings  and  terrify  a 
whole  people  into  submission  by  the  force  of  a  single  imperi- 
ous will  ?  The  very  name  of  Elijah  is  to  this  day  terrible  in 
the  East ;  never  was  there  memory  so  potent  and  implacable. 
The  manner  of  his  removal  from  the  earth  added  to  the 
superstitious  awe  which  clothed  his  name.  He  was  believed 
not  to  have  died ;  to  have  vanished  from  the  earth  only  to 
halt  upon  some  dim  borderland  between  life  and  death,  ready 
to  reappear  at  any  time ;  to  have  become  a  supernatural 
man,  who  might  return,  and  assuredly  would  return  in  his 
chariot  of  flame,  when  some  great  national  crisis  called  for 
him.     Such  legends  are  common ;  they  are  associated  with 


JOHN    THE    BAPTIST  39 

King  Arthur,  and  even  with  Francis  Drake.  It  is  a  curious 
testimony  to  man's  inherent  conviction  of  immortality,  that 
he  finds  it  difficult  to  believe  that  a  great  hero  is  really  dead. 
But  to  the  Jew,  the  sense  of  Elijah's  real  presence  in  the  na- 
tional life,  his  incompleted  work  upon  the  national  destiny, 
was  not  so  much  a  legend  as  a  creed.  It  was  an  impassioned 
belief,  increasing  in  vehemence  as  the  times  grew  darker. 
The  deeper  the  despair  and  impotence  of  the  nation  the 
more  eager  became  the  hope  that  Elijah  would  return.  He 
would  surely  come  again  and  smite  the  house  of  Herod  as 
he  had  smitten  the  house  of  Aliab.  The  desert  would  once 
more  travail  in  strange  birth,  and  from  it  would  come  the  re- 
deeming Titan. 

No  doubt  there  was  some  conscious  or  unconscious  imita- 
tion of  Elijah  in  John's  method  of  life.  It  was  not  servile 
imitation;  it  was  merely  the  expression  of  a  general  convic- 
tion that  the  prophet  must  needs  be  a  man  of  austere  char- 
acter, whose  proper  dwelling-place  was  the  wilderness.  The 
greatest  of  all  prophets  had  been  such  a  man ;  what  more 
natural  than  to  suppose  that  any  future  prophet  must  con- 
form to  the  type  organized  by  Elijah  ?  So  it  happened,  that 
in  spite  of  all  the  sweet  and  joyous  elements  of  ordinary 
Jewish  religion,  the  Jew  still  retained  an  admiration  of  as- 
ceticism when  it  was  associated  with  prophetic  claims.  The 
Jew  never  traveled  through  this  awful  Judean  wilderness 
without  some  thrill  of  patriotic  hope.  He  saw  in  the  sacred 
but  detested  scene  the  cradle  of  his  deliverer.  He  trembled 
with  a  sense,  at  once  joyous  and  fearful,  of  an  unseen  pres- 
ence in  the  air.  The  very  night-wind,  crying  in  the  clefts  of 
savage  rocks,  was  as  the  voice  of  Elijah  crying  in  the  wilder- 
ness. Suddenly  all  that  was  mythical  and  legendary  becamo 
defined.  An  indubitable  figure  of  flesh  and  blood,  stern,  im- 
placable, vehement  as  Elijah  himself,  had  appeared  in  the 


40  THE    LIFE    OF    CHRIST 

Judean  desert.  Once  more  a  voice  of  thunder  rang  through 
the  land,  a  presence  harshly  majestic  confronted  the  nation, 
a  soul  of  fire  began  to  prophesy.  The  most  heroic  episode 
of  Jewish  history  stood  revived  in  John,  and  in  a  few  months 
his  fame  had  filled  the  land. 

John's  fame  was  purely  popular.  He  exercised  little  or 
no  influence  over  the  priestly  classes.  Jesus  said  that  the 
prevalent  estimate  of  John  among  the  Scribes  and  Pharisees 
was  that  he  had  a  devil.  It  can  hardly  be  wondered  at  that 
they  thought  ill  of  him,  since  he  thought  ill  of  them.  He 
denounced  them  as  vipers,  and  asked  in  mockery  who  had 
taught  them  to  flee  from  the  wrath  to  come  ?  He  waxed 
bitterly  ironical  over  their  boasted  descent  from  the  loins  of 
Abraham,  saying  that  God  could  fashion  from  the  stones  of 
the  desert  sons  of  Abraham  as  good  as  they.  His  audiences 
were  composed  of  persons  whom  the  strict  Jew  regarded  as 
pariahs.  His  iconoclastic  spirit  was  seen  in  his  institution 
of  the  rite  of  baptism.  Ablution  or  immersion  was  common 
in  the  East,  but  it  had  no  place  in  Jewish  ritual,  except  as  a 
rite  by  which  proselytes  were  admitted  into  the  privileges  of 
Israel.  As  John  practiced  it,  it  was  meant  to  supersede  all 
the  elaborate  ritual  of  Temple  worship.  There  is  no  record 
of  John  ever  having  entered  the  Ternple  to  fulfil  the  tradi- 
tional duties  of  Jewish  piety.  His  aversion  from  the  estab- 
lished religion  was  complete.  He  had  no  faith  in  its  forms, 
and  complete  contempt  in  its  exponents.  It  sounds  cynical 
to  say  that  he  who  denounces  a  priestly  aristocracy  is  sure 
of  popularity  with  the  common  people ;  it  is  not,  however, 
cynicism  so  much  as  mournful  reflection  drawn  from  the 
general  history  of  such  aristocracies.  John  would  not  have 
found  a  nation  behind  him  in  his  attack  upon  the  priesthood, 
unless  that  priesthood  had  already  forfeited  respect  and  in- 
curred resentment.     John  stood  toward  the  Judaism  of  his 


JOHN    THE    BAPTIST  41 

day  much  as  Luther  stood  toward  Catholicism ;  aud  his  de- 
mand was  for  the  abolition  of  empty  forms,  the  simplifica- 
tion of  religion,  the  revival  of  ethical  sincerity,  the  return  to 
the  purer  and  more  austere  elements  of  primitive  Judaism. 

Certainly  no  prophet  ever  excelled  John  in  that  peculiar 
faculty  of  moral  indignation,  which  was  the  Hebrew  proph- 
et's most  distinctive  gift.  His  oratory  was  filled  with  these 
violent  and  vivid  images  which  in  all  ages  had  appealed  pow- 
erfully to  the  imagination  of  the  Jews.  He  spoke  of  the  axe 
laid  to  the  root  of  the  tree,  of  the  flail  of  judgment  thunder- 
ing on  the  threshing-floor,  of  the  chaff  burned  up  with  un- 
quenchable fire.  Men  of  this  order,  arising  suddenly  among 
the  easily  excited  populations  of  the  East,  have  often  driven 
whole  peoples  Avild  with  a  sort  of  frantic  hysteria.  They  ap- 
pear as  heralds  of  fate,  voices  preluding  the  breaking  up  of 
the  times,  and  the  birth  of  eras.  But  it  is  usually  found  that 
such  men  exhaust  their  genius  upon  a  narrow  range  of  theme, 
and  are  not  fertile  in  ideas.  When  the  prophet  descends 
from  his  tripod  he  is  even  as  other  men,  save  for  a  superior 
sincerity.  These  characteristics  and  limitations  are  very 
marked  in  John.  When  he  is  pressed  to  give  direct  ethical 
instruction  to  his  converts  he  has  little  to  say  that  is  novel, 
nothing  that  is  striking.  His  idea  of  charity  does  not  go  be- 
yond conventional  and  unsacrificial  benevolence.  "  He  that 
hath  two  coats,  let  him  impart  to  him  that  hath  none.  And 
he  that  hath  meat,  let  him  do  likewise."  His  advice  to  the 
publicans  is  that  they  shall  exact  no  more  than  is  appointed 
them,  and  to  the  soldiers  that  they  should  abstain  from  vio- 
lent behavior,  and  be  content  with  their  wages.  His  pro- 
gramme does  not  go  beyond  a  moderate  reform  of  manners, 
and  the  correction  of  some  outstanding  popular  abuses. 
After  the  manner  of  all  iconoclasts,  he  finds  it  much  easier  to 
destroy  error  than  to  reinvigorate  Truth,  and  give  it  new  cur- 


42  THE    LIFE    OF    CHRIST 

rency.  He  lias  no  conception  of  any  new  and  authoritative 
system  of  religion.  His  mind  is  destitute  of  those  great  fer- 
tilizing ideas  out  of  which  new  religions  grow.  His  moral 
force  is  overwhelming ;  but  apart  from  one  range  of  ideas,  in 
expounding  which  he  is  truly  inspired,  and  speaks  with  the 
sublime  accent  of  the  prophet,  his  mind  is  commonplace. 

One  thing,  however,  in  John's  ministry  is  both  very  strik- 
ing and  very  beautiful.  He  has  a  presentiment,  not  only  that 
the  revelation  of  the  true  Messiah  is  at  hand,  but  that  the 
Messiah  is  already  on  the  earth,  living  unknown  among  the 
people.  He  himself  does  not  know  who  He  is,  or  where 
He  lives.  It  is  evident  that  the  wonder-stories  of  the  birth 
of  Jesus  had  never  reached  him  ;  for  had  he  known  them  it 
is  incredible  that  he  had  not  long  ago  made  the  acquaintance 
of  One  who  was  his  junior  by  only  half  a  year.  It  is  even 
more  difficult  to  imagine  how  such  incidents  could  have  faded 
out  of  the  general  mind  at  all,  had  they  really  happened. 
The  only  rational  hypothesis  by  which  this  ignorance  can  be 
explained  is  that  the  secret  of  Jesus  was  guarded  jealously, 
perhaps  through  fear,  and  that  His  seclusion  at  Nazareth  was 
so  complete  that  the  clues  of  His  early  history  were  quite  ob- 
literated. But  it  is,  at  all  events,  certain  that  John  had  not 
learned  the  secret.  He  was  aware  of  no  rival  when  he  com- 
menced his  ministry.  He  could  not  but  be  aware  also  of 
how  he  himself  came  to  be  regarded.  The  Pharisees,  his 
deadliest  enemies,  showed  themselves  uneasy  at  the  extraor- 
dinary resemblance  he  bore  to  the  traditional  Messiah,  and 
not  only  debated  the  question  among  themselves,  but  came 
to  him  with  the  plain  inquiry,  "  Who  art  thou  ?  "  A  man  less 
resolutely  honest  might  have  yielded  to  this  persistence  of 
popular  acclaim.  He  might  have  come  to  see  in  himself  the 
signs  of  a  predestined  greatness,  as  many  a  self-intoxicated 
enthusiast  has  done.     And  what  was  there  to  prevent  such  a 


JOHN    THE    BAPTIST  43 

course  ?  Simply  the  force  of  a  presentiment  which  amounted 
to  an  inspiration.  He  does  not  waver  for  an  instant  in  his 
testimony  that  he  is  not  the  Christ.  He  is  convinced  that 
the  utmost  part  he  has  to  play  is  that  of  a  precursor  or  a 
herald.  The  real  humility  of  a  mind,  naturally  authoritative 
and  impatient,  is  beautifully  revealed  in  a  series  of  sayings 
which  he  utters  about  the  coming  of  Christ.  John  declares 
that  One  comes  after  him,  who  is  preferred  before  him ;  that 
this  new  prospect  will  increase  as  he  himself  decreases ;  that 
he  is  not  worthy  to  unloose  the  shoe's  latchet  of  the  real 
Christ.  Here  Avas  a  character  surely  nobler  than  Elijah's, 
for  while  Elijah  regarded  his  successor  as  his  inferior,  and 
doubted  if  the  prophetic  mantle  could  descend  to  him,  John 
wished  nothing  better  for  himself  than  extinction  in  the  fuller 
light  that  was  to  come.  However  limited  was  John's  range 
of  thought,  none  has  ever  yet  excelled  him  in  magnanimity 
of  temper. 

This  note  of  expectation  in  John's  ministry  must  have  had 
a  powerful  influence  over  popular  thought.  It  excited  spec- 
ulation, it  kindled,  hope.  Who  was  this  mystic  personage, 
whose  footfall  John  already  heard  approaching?  As  John's 
fame  spread  this  question  came  to  be  debated  throughout  a 
hundred  villages  and  cities.  Some  caravan  passing  through 
Nazareth  would  bring  the  news  to  the  home  of  Mary,  and  all 
the  memories  of  Bethlehem  and  Jerusalem,  all  the  episodes 
and  tokens  of  thirty  patient  years  took  sudden  coherence  and 
significance.  The  news  came  to  her  heart  with  a  shock  of 
triumph ;  to  Jesus  with  a  shock  of  awe.  Or  was  it  fear  that 
Mary  felt,  when  what  had  faded  to  a  dream  became  insistent, 
tangible;  was  it  joy  that  Jesus  felt,  when  the  sweet  and 
gracious  consciousness  grew  on  Him  that  His  hour  had 
come  ?  "With  what  awestruck  eyes  did  Mother  and  Son  look 
on  one  another  in  those  days  !     With  what  timidity  in  the 


44  THE    LIFE    OF   CHRIST 

one,  what  growing  ecstasy  in  tlie  other,  did  each  catch  the 
vibrations  of  that  call  of  destiny,  daily  growing  louder! 
Sacred  in  every  great  life  is  the  hour  of  high  resolution,  when 
the  dedicated  soul  accepts  its  fate ;  but  nowhere  so  sacred  as 
in  this  lowly  home  of  Nazareth,  where  the  fate  of  the  world 
itself  hung  trembling.  If  a  voice  warned  John  that  the  true 
Messiah  was  at  hand,  did  not  that  same  voice  warn  Jesus 
that  the  time  had  come  when  this  secluded  life  of  Nazareth 
must  end  ?  Silently  He  made  His  preparations,  as  silently 
took  farewell  of  these  simple  Nazarenes  with  whom  His  life 
had  passed,  and  these  green  hills  among  which  He  would 
dwell  no  more. 

May  we  trust  tradition  for  any  true  portrait  of  the  Master? 
There  is  but  one  extant  description,  written  long  after  His 
death,  and  doubtless,  so  far  as  its  literary  form  goes,  a  for- 
gery ;  and  yet  it  sums  up  a  general  and  received  impression 
of  Christ's  appearance.  It  is  supposed  to  have  been  written 
by  Lentulus,  a  pro-consul  of  Judea,  who  thus  describes  our 
Lord :  "  He  is  tall  of  stature,  and  His  aspect  is  sweet  and 
full  of  power,  so  that  they  who  look  upon  Him  may  at  once 
love  and  fear  Him.  The  hah*  of  His  head  is  of  the  color  of 
wine :  as  far  as  the  ears  it  is  straight  and  without  glitter ; 
from  the  ears  to  the  shoulders  it  is  curled  and  glossy,  and 
from  the  shoulders  it  descends  over  the  back,  divided  into 
two  parts,  after  the  manner  of  the  Nazarene.  His  brow  is 
pure  and  even ;  His  countenance  without  a  spot,  but  adorned 
with  a  gentle  glow ;  His  expression  bland  and  open ;  His 
nose  and  mouth  are  of  perfect  beauty ;  His  beard  is  copious, 
forked,  and  of  the  color  of  His  hair ;  His  eyes  are  blue  and 
very  bright.  In  reproof  and  threatening  He  is  terrible,  in 
teaching  and  exhortation  He  is  gentle  and  loving.  The  grace 
and  majesty  of  His  appearance  are  marvelous."  This  is  He 
whom  we  see  passing  in  the  early  dawn  along  the  road  lead- 


JOHN    THE    BAPTIST  45 

ing  downward  to  the  Jordan  valley,  where  John  is  baptizing. 
A  little  later,  and  the  invincible  presentiment  of  John  is 
fulfilled.  Among  the  crowd  at  Bethabara  John  discerns 
the  face  that  had  long  filled  his  dreams,  and  utters  the  im- 
mortal encomium,  "  Behold  the  Lamb  of  God  that  taketh 
away  the  sins  of  the  world ! " 


CHAPTEE  ni 

THE  INFLUENCE  OP  JOHN  ON  JESUS 

No  two  temperaments  could  manifest  wider  disparity  than 
did  those  of  John  and  Jesus.  John's  attitude  to  society  was 
bitterly  critical  and  hostile,  while  Christ's  was  tolerant  and 
genial.  John  was  by  nature  and  choice  a  recluse,  while 
Jesus  loved  the  stir  of  life.  John  had  the  peculiar  dignity 
which  belongs  to  a  lofty  and  austere  character,  but  he  had 
little  charm ;  Jesus  possessed  a  power  of  charm  that  was  fell'; 
even  by  young  children.  No  one  can  imagine  John  taking 
up  little  children  in  his  arms  and  blessing  them,  or  sharing 
in  marriage  festivals,  or  mingling  freely  with  the  peoj)le  in 
familiar  intercourse ;  but  all  these  things  Jesus  did  out  of 
the  affectionate  warmth  of  a  nature  eminently  social.  Per- 
haps this  disparity  of  temperament  strengthened  the  bond 
of  friendship  between  the  two  teachers,  for  it  is  not  uncom- 
mon in  friendship  for  one  to  admire  in  the  other  qualities 
which  he  himself  does  not  possess.  At  all  events  it  is  cer- 
tain that  the  friendship  between  John  and  Jesus  was  firm 
and  constant.  It  was  never  threatened  by  the  jealousy 
which  too  often  poisons  the  relations  of  public  men,  although 
the  disciples  of  both  teachers  more  than  once  tried  to  make 
mischief.  John  never  spoke  of  Jesus  except  in  terms  of  af- 
fectionate reverence;  and  Jesus,  throughout  His  ministry, 
expressed  the  warmest  admiration  for  John.  If  Jesus  was 
to  John  "  the  Lamb  of  God,"  John  was  to  Jesus  "  a  burning 

46 


INFLUENCE    OF   JOHN   ON    JESUS     47 

and  a  shining  light,"  incomparably  greater  than  the  greatest 
of  the  prophets. 

It  must  be  remembered  that  both  teachers  were  young 
men,  and  they  were  inspired  by  common  hopes  and  enthusi- 
asms. Moral  ardor  makes  light  of  disparity  of  tempera- 
ment ;  there  is  no  union  surer  than  the  union  of  common 
ideas.  Jesus  soon  came  to  use  the  very  language  of  John. 
He  denounces  the  scribes  and  Pharisees  as  serpents  and 
vipers,  and  these  strong  expressions  of  disgust  which  He 
learned  at  Bethabara  were  on  His  lips  throughout  His  min- 
istry. He  adopted  baptism  as  a  sign  of  penitence,  and  in 
His  last  address  to  His  disciples  told  them  to  baptize  among 
all  nations.  He  incorporated  John's  message  in  His  own, 
omitting  and  extenuating  nothing,  but  greatly  enlarging 
and  supplementing  it.  It  is  probable  that  before  the  visit 
to  Bethabara  Jesus  had  made  some  tentative  efforts  at  teach- 
ing among  His  own  people.  The  phrase  used  by  St.  Luke, 
that  Jesus  grew  "in  favor  with  God  and  man,"  seems  to 
point  to  some  form  of  public  life  and  notoriety  in  Nazareth. 
It  is  hardly  to  be  believed  that  a  mind  so  full  and  ardent 
had  made  no  effort  to  utter  itself  through  all  the  years  that 
lay  between  boyhood  and  mature  manhood.  But  if  the  voice 
of  Christ  had  already  spoken  to  the  world  it  was  only  in 
accents  of  idyllic  sweetness.  He  had  spoken  as  a  poet  and 
idealist,  in  words  of  lyric  charm.  None  had  as  yet  been 
offended  in  Him,  for  He  had  given  no  cause  of  offence  to 
any.  His  knowledge  of  the  world  had  not  yet  included  the 
sadder  and  the  baser  sides  of  life.  But  at  Bethabara  these 
wider  and  sadder  perspectives  were  opened  to  Him.  John 
communicated  to  Him  the  fire  of  his  own  intensity  and  vehe- 
mence, and  He  speedily  shared  John's  hatreds  and  indigna- 
tions. The  life  of  the  public  man,  full  of  dispute  and  con- 
troversy, animated  by  the  fervor  of  battle,  quick  with  moral 


48  THE    LIFE    OF   CHRIST 

fire,  stood  revealed  to  Him.  It  was  a  life  fertile  in  occasions 
of  repugnance,  provocative  of  pain,  distasteful  in  an  hundred 
Avays  to  the  temper  of  the  poet,  the  mystic,  the  idealist ;  and 
yet  it  was  the  only  kind  of  life  possible  to  the  sincere  re- 
former of  society.  It  was  into  this  life  that  John  initiated 
the  young  teacher  of  Nazareth,  and  the  impact  John  made 
upon  the  mind  of  Christ  was  ineffaceable. 

Just  as  we  may  trace  to  the  influence  of  John  the  passion- 
ate repugnance  with  which  Jesus  came  to  regard  the  relig- 
ious aristocracy  of  the  time,  so  one  of  the  most  striking  epi- 
sodes in  the  life  of  Jesus,  the  temptation  in  the  wilderness, 
is  due  to  the  same  influence.  It  is  by  no  means  surprising 
that  Jesus  should  have  fallen  for  a  time  under  the  spell  of 
John's  asceticism,  and  have  allowed  Himself  to  be  deflected 
by  it  from  His  true  path  in  life.  There  is  something  deeply 
impressive  in  the  ascetic  character.  Men  in  general  are  so 
much  in  bondage  to  physical  senses  and  appetites  that  they 
cannot  but  regard  with  wonder  those  for  whom  such  bondage 
does  not  exist.  But  in  the  degree  that  the  spectator  of  as- 
cetic virtues  is  himself  pure  and  unworldly,  mere  wonder  is 
rapidly  intensified  into  emulation.  The  stern,  and  almost 
fierce  renunciation  of  such  a  life,  the  solitude,  the  isolation, 
the  singleness  of  purpose,  the  insatiable  passion  of  self-con- 
quest, will  powerfully  appeal  to  him.  The  man  who  seeks 
the  seclusion  of  the  cloister  is  but  in  rare  instances  the  bat- 
tered worldling,  who  has  found  the  temptation  of  the  senses 
too  much  for  him.  More  frequently  he  is  a  man  of  delicate 
sensibility  and  fastidious  purity  of  life.  For  exalted  spiri- 
tuality of  temperament,  the  law  of  asceticism  is  easy,  natural, 
and  alluring.  This,  at  least,  is  the  consistent  witness  of  the 
great  religious  orders,  and  it  is  the  explanation  of  the  power 
which  they  have  wielded  over  the  highest  class  of  mind. 

The  story  of  the  temptation  in  the  wilderness,  read  in  the 


INFLUENCE    OF   JOHN    ON   JESUS     49 

light  of  John's  asceticism,  becomes  easily  intelligible.  In 
nothing  is  Jesus  so  instinctively  a  Jew  as  in  His  love  for  the 
familiar  and  idyllic  side  of  Nature,  and  in  His  corresponding 
repugnance  to  her  harsher  aspects.  The  exquisite  homeli- 
ness of  His  teaching,  on  which  we  have  already  remarked,  is 
seen  in  relation  to  Nature  as  well  as  life.  His  nature-pict- 
ures are  of  birds,  and  fields,  and  flowers,  of  wheat  and  tares, 
of  sowers  and  reapers — the  simple  idylls  of  the  countryside 
— never  of  the  appalling  terrors  of  the  desert.  The  modern 
growth  of  the  picturesque  has  substituted  grandeur  for  terror, 
and  those  bred  in  this  late  cult  will  find  it  difficult  to  imagine 
that  Nature  can  be  terrible.  Yet  it  is  but  a  century  ago  that 
men  regarded  mountains  with  horror,  and  the  passage  of  the 
Alps  as  an  appalling  experience.  Remembering  this,  we 
may  perhaps  be  able  to  imagine  how  Jesus  would  regard  the 
kind  of  scenery  with  which  John  was  familiar.  All  His  life 
accustomed  to  the  gently  rounded  hills  of  Nazareth,  the  charm 
and  sweetness  of  a  fertile  landscape,  Jesus  was  now,  under 
the  attraction  of  asceticism,  suddenly  thrust  into  a  land  ab- 
solutely desolate.  Tradition  identifies  the  scene  of  the 
temptation  as  a  certain  hill  called  Quarantania,  which  rises 
from  the  Judean  plain;  it  is  at  all  events  noticeable  that 
tradition  affirms  that  the  temptation  took  place  in  this  very 
Judean  desert  which  was  the  school  of  John's  austerities. 
But  John  had  known  no  other  scenery ;  St.  Luke  asserts 
that  he  was  in  the  desert  until  the  time  of  his  showing  unto 
Israel.  The  inference  is  that  while  yet  very  young  he  had 
become  an  anchorite,  and  his  sense  of  the  horrors  of  the 
wilderness  had  long  since  been  blunted.  If,  then,  it  was  at 
John's  suggestion,  or  with  his  acquiescence,  that  Jesus  now 
made  the  experiment  of  asceticism  in  this  Judean  wilderness, 
John  would  be  no  fit  judge  of  the  effect  it  would  be  likely  to 
produce  on  a  nature  so  sensitive.  He  would  no  more  be 
4 


50  THE    LIFE    OF   CHRIST 

able  to  estimate  this  effect  than  a  person  of  robust  nerves 
can  understand  what  is  suffered  by  a  sensitive  child  shut  up 
in  the  dark. 

The  analogy  of  the  sensitive  child  in  the  dark  must  not 
be  pressed  too  hard,  and  yet  it  may  fairly  indicate  what 
Jesus  suffered  in  this  strange  experiment.  He  had  lived  all 
His  life  among  kinsfolk  and  friends,  and  now  He  is  utterly 
alone.  He  had  known  all  the  happy  reciprocities  of  domes- 
tic affection  and  social  intercourse ;  the  cheerful  friendships, 
the  conversations  beside  the  village  well  or  at  the  cottage 
door  on  still  evenings,  when  heart  leaped  to  heart,  and  the 
talk  drifted  into  intimacy.  The  vision  which  allures  the  eye 
in  Nazareth  is  of  the  tall  workman,  making  ox-yokes  in  con- 
tented labor,  the  Son  on  whose  arm  the  widowed  mother 
leans,  on  whose  knees  the  little  children  climb.  The  most 
familiar  path  of  Nature  He  has  trod  is  the  stony  track  lead- 
ing to  the  wide  plateau  above  the  little  town,  from  which  he 
has  seen  at  sunset  Carmel  flushed  with  rose,  and  the  Jordan 
valley  deep  in  purple  shadow,  and  far  away  to  northward 
the  azure  of  the  sea.  And  now,  all  at  once,  he  is  confronted 
with  a  new  Nature,  which  seems  no  more  benevolent  and  joy- 
ous, but  evil  and  malignant.  These  scarred  and  frowning 
rocks,  this  bloomless  waste,  this  gloomy  illimitable  plain, 
compose  a  fitting  theatre  for  diabolic  energies.  Night  falls 
upon  the  scene,  and  the  darkness  overwhelms  the  spirit. 
The  cry  of  the  wind  or  of  the  wild  beast  thrills  the  nerves. 
The  immitigable  silence  is  itself  a  horror.  The  stars  alone 
shine  familiar ;  elsewhere  there  is  neither  sight  nor  sound 
that  is  not  fearful  and  detestable.  Hunger  gives  a  new 
poignancy  to  all  mental  and  physical  sensations.  Stirrings 
of  the  air,  scarco  noticeable  by  the  normal  sense,  fall  upon 
the  spirit  like  a  blow.  There  are  buffeting  hands  that  leap 
from  the  mantle  of  the  darkness,  and  the  laughter  as  of 


INFLUENCE    OF  JOHN    ON   JESUS     51 

friends  among  the  caverned  rocks.  Strange  pictures  run  like 
a  frieze  of  fire  upon  that  darkness,  till  at  last  from  its  chaotic 
tumult  the  form  of  the  Evil  One  himsel'f  coheres,  emerges, 
and  approaches.  In  a  scene  where  all  is  monstrous  and  de- 
formed, under  a  strain  of  mind  and  body  quite  unfamiliar 
and  abnormal,  the  tortured  imagination  falls  a  prey  to  all 
the  horror  of  diabolism,  at  last  projecting  on  the  air  the 
very  shape  of  the  Enemy  of  Souls  himself.  Such  is  the 
work  of  asceticism  upon  a  nature  eminently  social,  joyous, 
and  sensitive. 

The  temptation  in  the  wilderness  was  not  the  less  real  be- 
cause we  may  thus  explain  it  as  the  effect  of  asceticism  upon 
a  peculiarly  sensitive  imagination.  Luther's  struggle  with 
the  Evil  One  in  his  cell  at  the  "Wartburg  was  real  enough, 
and  even  horribly  real,  although  the  phantom  existed  in  his 
eye  alone.  The  temptations  of  a  Francis  of  Assisi  or  of  a 
St.  Anthony  were  in  the  same  manner  real  though  but  spec- 
tres of  the  mind.  Or,  to  take  a  far  more  ancient  story,  was 
not  the  struggle  of  Jacob  at  the  brook  Jabbok  a  conflict 
really  confined  to  the  theatre  of  the  mind  ?  Here  are  many 
of  the  elements  which  we  find  in  the  temptation  of  Jesus — 
elements  which  indeed  are  common  to  all  such  experiences. 
Jacob,  in  the  grip  of  a  great  anxiety,  finds  himself  alone  be- 
side the  brook  amid  the  gathering  darkness.  The  fear  of  his 
brother  passes  by  subtle  changes  into  a  terror  of  the  dark- 
ness itself.  Time  dwindles  to  a  point,  and  all  his  life  is 
concentrated  into  a  few  agonized  moments.  The  darkness 
takes  a  shape,  becomes  as  it  were  a  man  under  whose  invisi- 
ble violence  Jacob  is  forced  to  his  knees.  He  wrestles,  as 
for  his  very  life,  till  the  breaking  of  the  day.  He  is  plunged 
into  the  vortices  of  a  horror  so  great  that  his  very  life,  and 
certainly  his  sanity,  is  in  peril.  When  the  morning  comes 
peace  returns,  and  more  than  peace — a  sense  of  triumph  over 


52  THE   LIFE   OF   CHRIST 

ghostly  forces  which  had  threatened  the  very  roots  of  being. 
To  the  unimaginative  such  a  story  may  appear  absurd,  but  it 
is  time  in  fact.  In  such  moments  the  imagination  controls 
the  senses.  Or  perhaps  we  may  say  the  imagination  super- 
sedes the  senses,  becoming  a  new  and  finer  sense,  so  that 
men  see  the  invisible,  hear  the  inaudible,  and  touch  the  in- 
tangible. Personality  is  an  abyss  so  deep,  and  so  little 
explored,  that  a  hundred  things  may  happen  in  its  inmost 
depths  which  the  normal  and  conventional  human  creature 
may  regard  as  incredible.  In  such  a  case  the  normal  human 
creature  is  no  judge ;  but  if  he  will  approach  the  problem 
not  in  arrogance  but  docility  of  spirit,  he  will  admit  that 
there  are  many  things  in  earth  and  heaven  not  dreamed  of 
in  his  philosophy. 

Both  St.  Matthew  and  St.  Luke  give  a  detailed  account  of 
the  temptation  ;  St.  Mark  contents  himself  with  a  single  sen- 
tence, and  St.  John  passes  over  it  altogether.  Obviously 
what  Jesus  endured  in  these  forty  days  and  nights  must 
have  been  related  by  His  own  lips,  for  there  was  no  specta- 
tor of  His  struggles.  Beneath  the  highly  pictorial  account 
afforded  us  by  the  Evangelists  there  is  a  firmly  outlined 
ethical  basis.  The  first  temptation  is  a  temptation  of  the 
flesh,  but  entirely  free  from  the  grossness  which  in  mediaeval 
history  disfigures  such  temptations.  It  is  the  natural  and 
relatively  innocent  temptation  to  break  the  vow  of  abstinence 
by  creating  bread  to  satisfy  the  fleshly  hunger.  Christ's  re- 
ply is  remarkable  as  an  assertion  of  the  right  of  the  spirit  to 
control  the  body :  "  Man  liveth  not  by  bread  alone  but  by 
every  word  that  proceedeth  out  of  the  mouth  of  God  " — a 
familiar  quotation  from  the  writings  of  Moses.  The  second 
temptation,  taking  the  order  of  St.  Matthew,  which  here  dif- 
fers from  that  observed  by  St.  Luke,  is  a  temptation  to  the 
selfish  use  of  miraculous  power  or  the  abuse  of  faith.     God 


INFLUENCE    OF   JOHN    ON   JESUS     53 

has  promised  that  the  angels  shall  have  charge  over  the  man 
who  trusteth  in  Him ;  why  not  put  the  promise  to  the  test 
by  the  suicidal  folly  of  leaping  from  a  pinnacle  of  the 
Temple  ?  There  is  something  at  once  childish  and  cynical  in 
this  suggestion,  unless  indeed  it  be  meant  to  imply  that  de- 
rangement of  reason  which  struggles  with  the  gloomy  horror 
of  suicide.  The  reply  of  Christ  again  breathes  the  spirit  of 
a  temperate  wisdom :  "  Thou  shalt  not  tempt  the  Lord  thy 
God."  The  third  temptation  is  more  intelligible;  it  is  to 
snatch  at  power  by  the  sacrifice  of  conscience.  The  king- 
doms of  the  world  may  be  gained  by  obeisance  to  the  Spirit 
of  Evil.  This  is  the  familiar  temptation  of  a  Faustus,  im- 
mortalized in  the  great  drama  of  Mario w,  and  in  the  greater 
poem  of  Goethe.  But  it  is  a  seduction  that  has  no  potency 
for  the  pious  idealist.  "  Thou  shalt  worship  the  Lord  thy 
God,  and  Him  only  shalt  thou  serve,"  is  the  reply  of  Christ. 
The  story  concludes  with  the  striking  saying  that  after  the 
third  temptation  the  devil  left  Him,  and  angels  came  and 
ministered  unto  Him. 

The  reflection  is  obvious  that  such  a  story  commends  itself 
to  the  universal  preconceptions  of  what  should  form  the  ed- 
ucation of  a  great  spiritual  reformer.  Buddha  also  had  his 
period  of  temptation ;  what  great  man  has  not  ?  Human 
thought,  always  obedient  to  conventions  even  when  appar- 
ently most  original,  has  arranged  an  invariable  programme 
for  poets,  prophets,  teachers,  and  men  of  genius.  Men  can 
conceive  of  no  supreme  virtue  except  the  kind  of  virtue  that 
is  won  by  struggle.  What  Milton  finely  calls  "  unbreathed 
virtue,"  that  is  to  say,  virtue  uncontested,  unexercised,  un- 
disciplined by  temptation,  is  really  no  virtue  at  all.  It  is 
the  negative  of  vice,  but  it  is  not  virtue.  The  deepest 
thought  of  man  about  the  moral  order  of  the  world  is  that  it 
is  disciplinary.     Hence  the  hero  of  whatever  order  is  one 


54  THE    LIFE    OF   CHRIST 

wlio  lias  overcome.  Hence  also  the  story  of  Jesus  would  be 
incomplete  without  victory  over  temptation.  And,  in  the 
nature  of  things,  such  temptation  must  be  real,  even  though 
the  vehicle  of  its  interpretation  be  a  tortured  fancy.  The 
story  of  Christ's  temptation  loses  all  cogency  if  we  are  asked 
to  grant  that  under  no  possible  conditions  could  He  have 
submitted.  It  then  becomes  little  less  than  farcical.  He  is 
seen  as  entering  on  a  struggle  of  which  the  issue  is  a 
foregone  conclusion.  A  mistaken  reverence  insisting  on  this 
view  of  the  temptation  really  reduces  what  is  in  itself  of 
deep  interest  and  abiding  invigoration  to  humanity,  to  an  in- 
sincere and  foolish  fable.  But  the  story,  as  it  is  related  by 
the  Evangelists,  gives  no  hint  of  such  mental  reservations. 
It  is  told  as  a  plain  matter  of  fact,  an  essential  circumstance 
in  the  spiritual  evolution  of  the  Master,  with  a  rational  un- 
derstanding of  its  implications.  Temptation  can  imply 
nothing  less  than  the  possibility  of  fall,  and  He  who  is  said 
to  have  been  tempted  in  all  points  like  we  are,  would  have 
missed  the  truly  cardinal  point  of  all  such  trials,  if  it  is  in- 
conceivable that  the  temptation  might  have  been  effectual. 
In  other  words,  the  desert  might  have  proved  fatal  to  Christ ; 
but  He  escaped  by  His  own  superiority  of  soul,  emerging 
from  the  test  triply  armed  for  His  great  work  as  the  ex- 
emplar of  men. 

Following  instantly  as  it  does  on  Christ's  contact  with 
John,  it  can  hardly  be  doubted,  as  I  have  already  tried  to 
show,  that  the  sojourn  in  the  desert  was  one  of  the  results  of 
that  association.  Perhaps  it  was  undertaken  at  the  immedi- 
ate suggestion  of  John ;  perhaps  it  was  a  concession  on  the 
part  of  Jesus  to  the  prevalent  ideals  of  the  time.  Jesus  saw 
in  John  a  truly  great  man,  whose  greatness  had  been  bred 
in  the  school  of  austerity,  and  He  Himself  would  fain  make 
a  trial  of  asceticism.     The  trial  was  not  disastrous  ;  it  pro- 


INFLUENCE    OF   JOHN    ON   JESUS     55 

ducecl  great  results,  but  the  chief  result  was  that  it  enabled 
Jesus  to  recover,  and  finally  affirm,  the  true  bent  of  His  own 
nature.  The  men  of  real  genius,  in  his  period  of  immaturity, 
makes  many  such  experiments  before  he  comes  to  a  genuine 
knowledge  of  himself.  He  is  frequently  deflected  from  his 
course  by  influences  which  he  does  not  perceive  to  be  foreign 
and  even  antagonistic,  and  by  such  adventures  of  the  spirit 
wisdom  comes.  Thus,  after  many  fluctuations  of  ideal,  he 
finds,  a  permanent  foothold  of  truth,  and  is  the  gainer  rather 
than  the  loser  by  his  experiment,  because  he  has  won  a  wider 
knowledge  of  the  human  heart. 

It  is  in  this  light  that  the  sojourn  in  the  desert  should  be 
read,  so  far  as  it  forms  a  part  of  the  development  of  Jesus. 
It  is  significant  that  His  intimacy  with  John  appears  to  have 
terminated  with  the  temptation.  He  did  not  return  to  John, 
nor  does  He  seek  further  instruction  from  him ;  the  Pupil 
had  already  surpassed  His  master.  His  friendship,  His 
reverence,  His  sense  of  obligation  to  John  remained,  but  the 
desert  marked  the  parting  of  the  ways.  John's  scheme  of 
life  had  many  virtues,  but  it  was  incapable  of  general  imita- 
tion. It  was  an  abnormal  life,  and  the  real  redemption  of 
men  must  be  wrought  through  the  normal,  not  the  abnormal. 
The  conception  of  the  prophet  as  invincibly  austere,  notwith- 
standing the  general  tradition  and  acceptance,  was  radically 
wrong.  Asceticism,  in  so  far  as  it  imposed  a  general  rule  of 
life,  was  both  injurious  and  insulting  to  human  nature.  The 
true  bent  of  Christ's  nature  once  more  asserted  itself,  and 
the  pressure  of  John's  example  ceased  to  be  effective.  To 
tread  the  dusty  pathways  of  the  commonplace  in  a  lofty 
spirit  of  duty ;  to  seek  comradeship  with  ordinary  men  and 
women ;  to  be  free,  familiar,  kind,  in  social  intercourse ;  to 
accept  life  as  in  itself  good  and  capable  of  being  better ;  to 
live  as  a  man  with  men — this  was  to  help  the  world  after  a 


56  THE    LIFE    OF   CHRIST 

fashion  niuch  superior  to  John's.  Jesus  had  been  right  after 
all  in  those  simple  and  profoundly  human  conceptions  of 
life,  on  which  thirty  years  of  lowly  toil  at  Nazareth  had  set 
their  seal.  John  came  fasting ;  it  was  the  distinguishing 
feature  of  his  austerity ;  Jesus  and  His  disciples  came  eat- 
ing and  drinking.  John  preached  amid  the  deserts  of 
Judea ;  Jesus  henceforth  turns  His  steps  to  the  pleasant 
shores  of  Galilee.  John  is  a  recluse ;  Jesus  is  the  Friend 
and  Brother,  easily  accessible,  eminently  sociable.  The 
break  in  practice  is  henceforth  complete  and  irreparable. 
Asceticism  had  been  tried  and  found  wanting ;  it  has  never 
since  been  revived  save  to  the  injury  of  religion  and  the 
degradation  of  society. 


CHAPTEE  IV 

THE   OPENING    SCENES 

The  Lake  of  Galilee,  toward  which  Jesus  directed  His 
steps  after  His  sojourn  in  the  Judean  desert,  was  already 
familiar  to  Him,  and  it  is  probable  that  He  entertained  for  it 
the  kind  of  love  which  the  dalesman  has  for  his  own  remote 
and  sheltered  valley.  It  is  a  sheet  of  exquisitely  blue  and 
clear  water,  about  thirteen  miles  in  length  by  a  quarter  of  a 
mile  in  breadth.  Josephus  describes  the  whole  district  as  a 
terrestrial  paradise,  laying  stress  upon  the  tempered  delicacy 
of  its  air,  the  fertility  of  its  soil,  and  the  natural  attractions 
of  its  beauty.  The  modern  traveler  may  flatter  himself  that 
his  eye  rests  upon  the  same  outlines  of  scenery  that  Christ 
beheld  and  loved ;  but  little  else  remains.  The  thick  foliage 
that  clothed  its  shores  has  disappeared  as  utterly  as  have 
the  gilded  pinnaces  of  Herod  or  the  glittering  pleasure  barges 
of  the  Romans  which  once  floated  on  its  waters.  Something 
of  the  grandeur  that  was  Rome,  and  the  splendor  that  was 
Greece  may  still  be  conjectured  in  the  ruins  in  the  Forum 
Roinanum  or  the  Acropolis ;  but  not  a  single  clue  remains  to 
the  former  prosperity  and  charm  of  the  shores  of  Galilee. 

It  was  with  excellent  judgment  that  Jesus  chose  this  dis- 
trict for  the  scene  of  His  mission.  The  Galileans  themselves 
were  of  a  cheerful  temper,  and  were  relatively  free  from  the 
arid  casuistries  of  the  various  sects  which  struggled  for  pre- 
eminence in  Jerusalem.  They  were  a  simple  folk  much  en- 
gaged in  fishing,  and  in  other  humble  outdoor  employments. 

57 


58  THE    LIFE    OF   CHRIST 

A  certain  leaven  of  cosmopolitanism  had  also  been  imparted 
to  the  common  life  by  the  Roman  occupation.  The  great 
road  from  Jerusalem  to  Damascus  which  passed  along  the 
shores  of  the  lake,  brought  a  constant  influx  of  travelers  of 
every  nationality.  The  Galilean  fisherman,  by  the  nature  of 
his  business,  found  himself  brought  into  contact  with  many 
types  of  men,  and  especially  with  the  Romans,  of  whose  lux- 
urious appetites  he  was  the  servant.  Many  publicans  dwelt 
in  the  district,  for  the  work  of  collecting  the  taxes  in  a  dis- 
trict so  crowded  was  heavy.  These  men  are  not  to  be  con- 
founded with  the  Roman  farmers  of  taxes,  who  were  usually 
patricians.  They  were  humble  clerks  and  collectors  of  cus- 
toms chosen  from  the  local  population.  The  reason  why  they 
were  held  in  scornful  disesteem,  or  even  hated,  was  a  patri- 
otic reason.  They  were  accounted  traitors  ;  quite  unjustly, 
for  if  taxes  had  to  be  collected,  even  a  patriotic  Jew  might 
have  reasoned  that  it  was  less  insulting  to  the  nation  that  the 
taxgatherer  should  be  his  own  countryman  than  an  alien  and 
a  pagan.  This  was  a  degree  of  reasonableness,  however, 
quite  beyond  the  average  Jew,  who  accounted  all  money 
raised  by  taxation,  even  when  taxation  was  most  moderate 
and  just,  stolen  money,  and  punished  the  Jewish  customs  of- 
ficer accordingly  by  a  bitter  ostracism  which  even  went  so 
far  as  to  deny  him  the  right  of  making  a  will.  The  frank 
and  public  friendship  which  Christ  extended  to  these  pariahs 
of  a  bigoted  patriotism  must  have  been  very  grateful  to 
their  hurt  pride ;  it  healed  them  of  their  self-despisings. 
No  doubt  the  attitude  which  Christ  adojited  toward  them 
was  largely  dictated  by  a  sense  of  the  injustice  of  their 
position. 

It  is  interesting  to  remember  that  in  this  busy  and  popu- 
lous district  Jesus  would  find  Himself  at  all  points  in  con- 
tact with  the  paganism  of  Rome.     Wherever  the  Roman  went 


THE    OPENING   SCENES  59 

lie  carried  with,  liim  the  entire  apparatus  of  his  faith  and 
civilization.  Streets  of  tombs,  such  as  lined  the  Appian  way 
or  the  approaches  to  Pompeii,  marked  the  towns  and  cities 
where  the  Roman  power  was  most  centralized ;  votive  tem- 
ples, and  statues  to  Pan  and  to  the  gods,  sprang  up  among 
these  groves  of  Galilee ;  and  upon  these  symbols  of  an  alien 
faith  the  eyes  of  Christ  must  have  often  rested.  No  indica- 
tion is  afforded  us  by  any  word  of  Christ's  that  these  monu- 
ments of  art  and  pagan  piety  made  the  least  impression  on 
Him.  On  the  other  hand,  it  is  clear  that  His  relations  with 
the  Romans  themselves  were  friendly.  It  was  in  Capernaum, 
one  of  the  most  lovely  towns  of  Galilee,  that  Jesus  met  the 
Roman  centurion,  of  whom  He  said  that  his  faith  surpassed 
any  faith  that  He  had  met  among  the  children  of  Israel.  In 
all  ages  a  certain  simplicity  of  character  has  distinguished 
the  soldier.  Doubt  and  incertitude,  which  are  the  maladies 
of  the  man  of  thought,  rarely  afflict  the  man  of  action.  We 
have  already  seen  that  the  ministry  of  John  the  Baptist 
proved  attractive  to  the  Roman  soldiers.  To  the  teaching  of 
Christ  they  were  even  more  accessible.  The  Roman  was  too 
thorough  a  man  of  the  world  to  be  a  bigoted  believer  even  in 
his  own  forms  of  faith.  He  regarded  all  faiths  with  toler- 
ance, and  was  ready  to  treat  them  with  respect  so  long  as 
they  presented  no  menace  to  the  civil  power.  The  more 
thoughtful  Roman  went  further  than  this  ;  sceptical  of  much 
in  his  own  religion,  he  was  an  inquirer  after  truth,  full  of 
ardent  curiosity,  and  disposed  to  interest  in  any  new  religion 
that  challenged  him  in  the  lands  he  conquered.  Thus  we 
find  that  the  centurion  of  Capernaum  whom  Christ  praised 
had  built  a  synagogue  for  the  Jews,  and  among  the  Romans 
there  were  many  men  distinguished  by  the  same  fine  toler- 
ance and  religious  spirit. 

In  this  district,  beautiful,  fertile,  populous,  the  most  cos- 


60  THE    LIFE    OF   CHRIST 

mopolitan  of  all  the  districts  of  Palestine,  and  therefore  the 
best  fitted  for  the  growth  of  a  new  religion,  the  real  ministry 
of  Christ  commenced.  Its  towns,  utterly  razed  to  the  ground 
as  they  are  to-day,  were  to  become  more  famous  in  the  gen- 
eral memory  of  man  than  the  greatest  cities  of  antiquity. 
Bethsaida,  Capernaum,  Magdala,  have  been  the  sources  of  an 
influence  more  invigorating,  and  greatly  more  vital  than  the 
influence  of  even  Eome  or  Athens  themselves.  The  words 
spoken  in  these  narrow  streets  and  beside  the  blue  waters  of 
this  humble  lake  have  reverberated  to  the  utmost  limits  of 
the  world.  In  Jerusalem  Christ  always  felt  Himself  a  for- 
eigner ;  but  here  He  was  at  home.  The  intellectual  atmos- 
phere of  Jerusalem,  arid  as  the  hills  on  which  the  city  stood, 
dulled  the  spontaneity  and  freshness  of  His  thought ;  but 
here  He  spoke  always  with  the  accent  of  joyous  inspiration. 
Among  these  simple  Galileans  He  found  the  friends  dearest 
to  his  heart,  and  the  converts  who  did  most  for  His  memory. 
Peter  and  Andrew  his  brother  were  fishermen  of  the  lake. 
Zebedee,  another  fisherman,  received  Him  gladly ;  his  two 
sons,  James  and  John,  became  apostles,  and  his  wife,  Salome, 
was  with  Jesus  at  Calvary.  Matthew  was  a  customs  officer 
of  Capernaum ;  Nathaniel  belonged  to  Cana,  and  Philip  to 
Bethsaida.  From  Magdala  came  Mary,  who  regarded  Him 
with  an  adoring  passion,  followed  Him  to  the  cross,  and  was 
first  in  the  Garden  on  the  morning  of  the  resurrection. 
Never  in  the  history  of  the  world  did  a  single  district  pro- 
duce so  many  men  and  women  who  were  to  become  immor- 
tal in  the  annals  of  faith,  piety,  love,  and  genius.  Here 
is  the  truly  sacred  soil  of  Christianity;  it  is  to  Galilee 
rather  than  Jerusalem  that  the  pilgrim  feet  of  men  should 
travel. 

Before  Jesus  definitely  chose  Galilee  for  the  theatre  of  His 
exertions  several  things  of  moment  happened.     Although  we 


THE    OPENING  SCENES  61 

have  no  record  to  guide  us,  we  cau  hardly  suppose  that  Jesus 
left  John  abruptly,  with  no  word  of  affectionate  farewell. 
John  would  perhaps  greet  Hhn  on  His  return  from  the  wild- 
erness, and  in  the  calm  elation  of  His  aspect,  in  the  radiant 
sense  of  power  that  now  clothed  Jlim,  would  anew  recognize 
Him  as  the  Lamb  of  God.  In  the  early  dawn  beside  the 
fords  of  Jordan  they  parted,  to  meet  no  more.  Interested 
followers  Jesus  had  already;  He  was  now  to  choose  dis- 
ciples. Moving  northward,  through  the  Jordan  valley,  He 
comes  to  the  Lake  of  Galilee,  and  there  beholds  two  fisher- 
men, Simon  Peter  and  Andrew  his  brother,  casting  a  net  into 
the  sea.  These  two  fishermen  had  already  seen  Jesus  in  the 
congregation  of  John  the  Baptist,  and  had  heard  John's 
declarations  regarding  Him.  It  would  appear  they  had  not 
made  up  their  minds  about  Him ;  they  were  divided  between 
growing  interest  and  incredulity.  But  now,  at  a  simple  word, 
their  divided  thoughts  rushed  into  unanimity ;  no  sooner  had 
Jesus  said,  "  Follow  me,  and  I  will  make  you  fishers  of  men," 
than,  "  they  immediately  left  their  ship  and  their  father,  and 
followed  Him."  The  effect  which  Christ  was  able  to  produce 
by  a  single  word  or  a  glance  was  magical.  Matthew,  the 
customs  officer  at  Capernaum,  the  nature  of  whose  occupa- 
tion would  forbid  any  preliminary  knowledge  of  Jesus  at  a 
place  so  remote  as  Bethabara,  was  hereafter  to  surrender  in- 
stantly to  the  same  call.  James  and  John,  the  sons  of 
Zebedee,  appear  to  have  received  their  call  at  the  same  time 
as  Peter  and  Andrew.  On  this  journey  northward  another 
disciple  joined  the  growing  company — Philip  of  Bethsaida. 
If  Jesus  had  desired  some  definite  assurance  that  the  sense 
of  vocation  which  had  possessed  His  mind  in  the  desert  was 
not  delusive,  no  more  overpowering  proof  could  have  been 
given  Him  than  this  new-found  power  over  men.  In  one 
swift  glance  He  seems  to  have  read  the  inmost  characters  of 


62  THE   LIFE    OF   CHRIST 

the  man  He  chose,  and  in  but  one  instance  did  the  result 
falsify  the  hope.  He  allowed  them  no  time  to  argue,  nor 
did  they  manifest  the  least  desire  of  argument.  It  was  as 
though  a  spell  had  fallen  on  them,  too  potent,  too  sweet  and 
gracious  also,  for  resistance.  Throughout  His  ministry,  as 
we  shall  see,  Jesus  relied  much  on  this  singular  power  of 
His  over  the  human  will.  It  served  Him  as  the  most  potent 
of  all  weapons  in  dealing  with  cases  of  hysteria  and  mental 
affliction.  The  force  of  His  personality  gave  His  lightest 
word  an  impact  which  seems  entirely  incommensurate  with 
its  ordinary  insignificance.  When  He  called  He  commanded ; 
it  was  as  though  a  flash  of  magnetism  pierced  to  the  core  of 
men's  hearts  and  fused  their  desires  with  His  own.  So  com- 
mon was  this  effect  that  He  grew  to  expect  instant  obedience, 
such  as  these  first  disciples  manifested ;  and  when  a  man 
once  pleaded  that  he  must  needs  bury  his  dead  before  he 
could  follow  Christ,  the  startling  reply  was  that  it  was  his 
duty  to  follow  instantly,  and  leave  the  dead  to  bury  their 
dead. 

In  one  place,  however,  and  among  one  population,  this 
power  signally  failed.  It  was  natural  that  before  entering 
on  His  new  career  Jesus  should  return  to  Nazareth,  where 
He  had  been  brought  up.  There  were  perhaps  family  affairs 
to  be  settled,  and  some  preparations  made  for  a  prolonged 
absence.  St.  Luke  gives  a  detailed  and  animated  account  of 
this  last  visit  to  Nazareth.  With  what  feelings  His  own 
family  received  Him  we  may  judge  by  certain  after  events  of 
His  history,  which  reveal  their  open  hostility.  If  a  prophet 
has  no  honor  in  his  own  country,  it  is  still  more  certain  that 
he  is  likely  to  encounter  much  incredulity  in  his  own  family. 
The  kinsfolk  of  a  man  of  genius  are  usually  the  last  to  under- 
stand him.  Nor  are  the  acquaintances  of  his  youth  and  the 
witnesses  of  his  early  life  in  a  much  better  position.     Famil- 


THE    OPENING   SCENES  G3 

iarity  dulls  the  force  of  insight.  A  scene  of  nature  which 
appeals  powerfully  to  a  traveler  as  the  loveliest  of  its  kind 
has  often  little  charm  for  those  who  behold  it  habitually.  It 
needs  a  Wordsworth,  coming  fresh  upon  the  scene,  to  see  the 
delicate  beauty  of  the  humblest  flower  that  blows  ;  to  a  Peter 
Bell  the  primrose  by  the  river's  brink  is  a  primrose,  and 
nothing  more.  It  is  no  doubt  discreditable  to  human  nature 
that  these  infirmities  of  judgment  should  exist ;  but  they  are 
so  common  as  to  form  a  law  almost  invariable.  This  law 
was  now  to  receive  a  truly  tragic  illustration  in  Nazareth. 

The  democratic  custom  of  the  Jewish  synagogue  permitted 
any  one  of  reputable  character  to  read  a  passage  from  the 
roll  of  the  prophets,  and  expound  it  according  to  his  lights. 
There  was  nothing  analogous  to  what  we  understand  as  the 
sober  order  of  public  worship.  The  ordinary  assembly  in 
the  synagogue  was  rather  in  the  nature  of  a  debating  society. 
Questions  were  asked,  difficulties  expounded,  and  criticism 
invited.  The  dialectic  subtlety  of  the  Jewish  mind  thrived 
in  such  an  atmosphere.  It  is  fair  also  to  remember  that  the 
same  democratic  spirit  which  gave  the  right  of  speech  to  any 
person  capable  of  using  it  also  permitted  considerable  lati- 
tude to  the  speaker.  Jesus  was  soon  to  be  adjudged  a 
heretic,  yet  throughout  His  ministry  He  was  permitted  to 
teach  in  the  temples  of  the  national  faith.  A  more  extreme 
case  is  that  of  Saul  of  Tarsus,  who,  in  spite  of  the  bitter 
hostility  with  which  he  was  regarded  as  a  renegade,  was  al- 
lowed to  preach  Christ  in  the  synagogue.  It  is  worth  notice, 
also,  that  in  the  memorable  visit  of  the  Boy  Jesus  to  the 
Temple  at  Jerusalem,  no  one  took  exception  to  His  extreme 
youth  when  He  both  asked  and  answered  questions,  or 
counted  him  presumptuous.  Stubborn  as  the  Jew  was  on 
many  points  of  traditional  orthodoxy,  yet  he  loved  the  spirit 
of  debate ;  and  while  these  public  debates  often  degenerated 


64  THE    LIFE    OF   CHRIST 

into  something  like  the  asking  of  casuistic  conundrums,  they 
did  much  to  sharpen  thought  and  develop  a  high  degree  of 
dialectic  efficiency  in  all  classes  of  the  community. 

Jesus  had  often  availed  Himself  of  these  opportunities  to 
speak  in  the  synagogue  at  Nazareth.  St.  Luke  tells  us 
specifically  that  it  was  His  custom  to  go  into  the  synagogue 
on  the  Sabbath  day  and  stand  up  to  read.  Some  local  repu- 
tation He  must  have  already  achieved,  for  it  is  impossible 
that  He  should  have  often  taken  part  in  these  religious  dis- 
cussions without  uttering  many  wise  and  memorable  words. 
That  reputation  was  now  much  enhanced  by  His  recent  as- 
sociation with  John,  and  by  the  rumor  of  certain  wonderful 
works  that  He  had  wrought  in  Capernaum.  What  these 
works  were,  what  were  His  associations  with  Capernaum, 
can  only  be  conjectured;  but  it  would  seem  that  He  had 
already  found  friends  in  this  town  which  He  always  loved, 
and  it  is  likely  that  He  had  attempted  certain  works  of  heal- 
ing there  which  had  been  magnified  by  rumor  into  miracles. 
There  was  therefore  every  disposition  to  hear  Him  with 
respect  and  attention,  not  wholly  unmixed,  however,  with 
latent  incredulity  and  far  from  affectionate  curiosity.  His 
opening  words  on  this  memorable  Sabbath  morning  gained 
Him  instant  attention.  He  read  one  of  the  great  passages 
from  the  prophecies  of  Isaiah  which  had  always  been  con- 
sidered of  Messianic  significance.  His  thrilling  accent,  His 
air  of  exaltation,  the  power  of  charm  which  had  already 
proved  so  remarkable  in  attracting  disciples,  had  an  extra- 
ordinary effect  on  the  Nazarene  assembly.  The  wave  of 
magnetism  passed  through  them,  subduing  and  enkindling 
them.  They  did  not  resent  His  solemn  affirmation  that, 
"  This  day  is  this  Scripture  fulfilled  in  your  ears."  Tor  the 
moment  pure  wonder  filled  their  thoughts ;  an  occult  and 
powerful  spell  held  them  breathless.     It  was  one  of  those 


THE   OPENING  SCENES  65 

triumphant  moments  in  the  life  of  Jesus  when  the  force  of 
His  personality  bore  down  all  opposition. 

The  spell  was  soon  broken.  A  note  of  sarcasm,  justified 
doubtless  by  many  a  slight  and  indignity  that  Nazareth  had 
put  upon  Him,  introduced  a  discord  into  the  music  of  His 
speech  which  these  Nazarenes  had  at  first  found  so  gracious. 
He  perceived  their  incredulity  not  only  as  latent  but  invincible. 
With  that  same  kind  of  piercing  insight  which  in  later  days 
foresaw  the  certainty  of  violent  death  when  the  immediate 
prospect  seemed  more  brilliant,  He  discerns  that  these  Naz- 
arenes will  never  give  Him  credit  as  a  real  prophet.  He 
accepts  the  irony  of  the  situation  as  inevitable ;  no  prophet 
can  be  accepted  in  his  own  country.  It  would  seem  that 
some  local  jealousy  or  soreness  existed  between  Nazareth  and 
Capernaum.  Perhaps  the  Nazarene,  whose  interests  were 
narrow,  held  in  scorn  the  wider  freedom  of  the  semi-pagan- 
ized Capernaum.  Many  instances  may  be  found  in  rural 
districts  of  the  incredible  lengths  of  acrimony,  and  even  fury, 
to  which  local  jealousy  may  lead.  Such  a  community,  filled 
with  such  a  spirit,  while  neglecting  its  own  prophet,  would 
be  easily  incensed  at  his  popularity  in  a  rival  city.  Jesus 
makes  no  effort  to  conciliate  this  embittered  pettiness  of 
feeling.  He  directly  challenges  it  by  defending  His  prefer- 
ence of  Capernaum.  He  reminds  them  that  the  greatest 
prophets  did  not  confine  their  ministry  even  to  their  own 
nation.  There  were  many  lepers  in  Israel  in  the  time  of 
Elijah,  yet  to  none  was  Elijah  sent,  save  unto  Naaman,  who 
was  a  Syrian  and  an  outlander.  If  He  found  Capernaum  a 
more  congenial  soil  for  His  work  than  Nazareth,  if  He  chose 
a  semi-pagnized  Capernaum  to  a  strictly  Jewish  Nazareth, 
He  was  but  doing  what  Elijah  had  done  before  Him.  It  re- 
quired great  boldness  to  make  such  a  declaration ;  it  was  the 
speech  of  a  reformer  whose  first,  deliberate,  and  consistent 
5 


06  THE   LIFE   OF   CHRIST 

effort  was  to  break  clown  Jewish  narrowness  of  thought.  For 
that  reason  the  declaration  could  not  be  made  too  plainly  or 
too  early  ;  it  was  to  the  new  movement  what  the  theses  of 
Luther,  nailed  to  the  church  door  of  Wittenburg,  were  to  the 
incipient  Reformation. 

The  effect  was  an  instantaneous  explosion  of  the  most 
violent  feeling.  The  historical  parallel  between  Himself  and 
Elijah  was  naturally  disregarded ;  angry  men  care  for  neither 
logic  nor  history.  Oriental  fanaticism,  one  of  the  most  fero- 
cious forces  in  the  world  when  once  unbridled,  suddenly 
changed  these  Nazarenes  into  a  bloodthirsty  mob.  The  very 
men  who  but  an  instant  earlier  had  wondered  at  His  gracious 
words  were  now  intent  upon  His  death.  They  essayed  to 
drive  Him  out  of  the  city  with  curses,  and  even  attempted  to 
thrust  Him  headlong  from  the  sharp  cliff  on  which  the  city 
stood.  Jesus  escaped  them,  not  by  any  miraculous  act,  but 
by  that  unapproachable  power  of  personality,  which  still 
affected  them  like  a  spell.  He  passed  through  the  midst  of 
them,  subduing  them  as  wild  beasts  are  subdued  by  a  super- 
ior will,  and  went  upon  His  way  to  Capernaum.  Nazareth 
saw  Him  no  more ;  henceforth  Capernaum  is  spoken  of  as 
"  His  own  city."  Here  He  found  His  true  kinsfolk,  "  the 
blameless  family  of  God."  Henceforth  His  name  is  linked 
no  more  with  Nazareth ;  He  is  Jesus  of  Galilee. 

One  other  incident,  as  exquisite  in  feeling  as  this  Nazar- 
ene  incident  is  distasteful  and  distressing,  marked  the  open- 
ing ministry  of  Christ.  Not  far  from  Nazareth,  and  on  the 
way  to  Capernaum,  lies  the  little  town  of  Cana.  The  family 
of  Jesus  had  friends,  and  probably  kinsfolk,  in  Cana.  "  On 
the  third  day" — a  phrase  to  which  we  can  attach  little 
chronological  significance — says  St.  John,  "there  was  a  mar- 
riage feast  in  Cana  of  Galilee,  and  the  mother  of  Jesus  was 
there :  and  both  Jesus  was  called,  and  His  disciples,  to  the 


THE    OPENING   SCENES  67 

marriage."  It  will  be  observed  that  no  mention  is  made  of 
Joseph ;  it  is  probable  that  he  was  dead.  It  is  also  clear 
that  John  writes  as  an  eye-witness,  though  with  his  usual 
modesty  he  suppresses  his  own  name,  perhaps  lest  he  should 
give  offence  to  his  fellow-disciples.  The  charge  of  arrogance 
and  desire  of  precedence  brought  against  the  sons  of  Zebedee 
at  a  subsequent  period  of  Christ's  ministry  was  remembered 
by  St.  John  even  in  old  age ;  and  hence  the  curiously  round- 
about manner  in  which  he  speaks  of  himself  sometimes  as 
the  "  other  disciple,"  or  the  suppression  of  his  own  name  as 
an  eye-witness  of  events,  as  in  this  case,  when  the  narrative 
would  have  been  strengthened  by  a  method  of  testimony 
more  direct. 

The  presence  of  Jesus  at  this  purely  festive  gathering  so 
soon  after  His  public  appearance  as  a  prophet  is  in  itself 
significant.  It  is  another  evidence  of  His  complete  sever- 
ance from  the  school  of  John  the  Baptist,  and  His  renuncia- 
tion of  all  faith  in  ascetic  modes  of  life.  The  presence  of 
His  mother  at  the  wedding,  and  the  part  she  played  in  its 
events,  also  disposes  of  some  natural  doubts  as  to  the  kind 
of  relations  that  existed  between  them.  Some  incertitude 
concerning  His  claims  and  His  destiny  she  must  often  have 
felt,  and  perhaps  still  felt.  The  violent  expulsion  from 
Nazareth  came  upon  her  as  a  great  shock.  But  with  the 
beautiful  instinct  of  a  loving  and  gracious  woman  she  lived 
much  with  the  memories  most  sacred  to  her.  Amid  all  the 
bitterness  of  household  dissension  she  had  traditions  that 
were  pondered  in  her  heart,  which  were  the  sacred  food  of 
faith.  She  had  learned  to  suppress  herself,  and  to  live  in 
the  life  of  her  oon,  as  only  mothers  can.  More  and  more 
since  the  death  of  Joseph  she  had  lived  in  and  for  her  Son ; 
and  it  was  with  tremulous  anxiety  for  His  safety,  with  per- 
haps some  illuminating  hope  that  Cana  might  in  some  way 


68  THE   LIFE    OF   CHRIST 

atone  for  the  rejection  of  Nazareth,  that  she  set  out  with 
Him  across  the  hills  to  the  wedding  of  her  kinsfolk. 

Once  more  a  picture  of  indescribable  charm,  definite  and 
joyous,  as  though  touched  with  the  spirit  of  Greek  art, 
assails  the  eye.  In  the  late  afternoon,  as  the  first  softness 
of  approaching  sunset  falls  upon  the  hills  and  the  far-off 
snows  of  Hermon,  the  little  party  starts  for  Cana.  Mary 
alone  rides  upon  a  mule ;  beside  her  walks  her  Son ;  and 
between  them  the  silent  intercourse  of  many  a  kindly  glance 
and  hand-touch  is  exchanged.  At  a  few  paces  from  them 
follow  the  newly  called  disciples,  shy  with  a  latent  sense  of 
intrusion,  talking  in  whispers  among  themselves,  thrilled  to 
the  heart  when  Jesus  turns  at  intervals  to  look  on  them, 
conscious  that  this  calm  evening  marks  the  first  stage  upon 
the  long  road  of  strange  destinies.  The  twilight  is  falling  as 
they  enter  Cana.  Soft  notes  of  flute  and  drum  already  stir 
the  air,  and  in  the  fragrant  gloom  torches  are  lit  one  by  one. 
Along  the  narrow  street  appears  a  slow  procession  of  Jewish 
virgins,  each  with  lighted  lamp — a  picture  Christ  reproduced 
long  afterward  in  one  of  His  most  striking  parables.  At 
last  the  bride  advances,  garlanded  with  flowers,  veiled  from 
head  to  foot,  moving  with  timid  and  reluctant  feet  from  the 
home  of  maidenhood  where  she  will  dwell  no  more.  The 
bridegroom,  attended  by  a  crowd  of  joyous  youths,  meets 
her ;  the  simple  music  swells  into  triumph ;  the  street 
quivers  with  a  hundred  lights  ;  and  then  the  wedding  party 
passes  in  to  the  feast,  and  the  door  is  shut.  It  is  a  wedding 
of  poor  people,  and  the  feast  has  not  proceeded  far  before 
the  signs  of  penury  assert  themselves.  The  wine  is  ex- 
hausted, and  the  cheerful  hospitality  is  menaced  with  dis- 
grace. Mary,  who  knows  something  of  the  things  that  have 
happened  in  Capernaum,  turns  anxiously  to  her  Son.  She 
knows  His  kindliness   of  nature  too  well  to  suppose  Him 


THE    OPENING   SCENES  69 

indifferent  to  the  mortification  of  His  hosts.  She  whispers 
to  the  servants,  "  Whatsoever  He  saith  unto  you,  do  it."  In 
the  vestibule  of  the  house  stand  six  earthen  waterpots,  cov- 
ered with  fresh  leaves,  and  filled  with  water.  Jesus  signs  to 
the  servants  to  fill  the  empty  wine-vessels  from  these  waterr 
jars,  and  they,  wondering  much,  obey.  And  behold,  by 
some  strange  alchemy,  the  water  is  turned  to  wine,  and  the 
ruler  of  the  feast,  suspecting  no  miracle,  compliments  the 
bridegroom  on  his  thrift  in  keeping  the  best  wine  unto  the 
last. 

We  may  be  sure  that  from  that  moment  neither  bride  nor 
bridegroom  were  the  central  figures  of  the  feast ;  all  eyes 
were  fixed  on  Jesus.  Throughout  His  ministry  it  was 
the  same ;  into  whatever  company  He  entered,  He  became 
the  observed  of  all  observers,  and  was  accounted  first  and 
greatest.  In  the  early  dawn  the  feast  ended,  and  the  guests 
separated.  What  thoughts  were  theirs,  as  they  passed  in 
little  groups  up  the  familiar  hill-paths  to  their  homes ! 
How  would  they  stop  from  time  to  time ;  discuss  and  argue 
anew  the  strange  happenings  of  the  night ;  suggest  proba- 
bilities and  explanations  that  led  to  nothing,  all  the  while 
quivering  with  a  joyous  fear,  half  glad  and  half  reluctant  to 
be  released  from  the  spell  of  a  personality  so  supreme,  more 
than  half  convinced  that  this  was  indeed  the  long-desired 
Messiah.  They  would  circulate  the  strange  stoiy  far  and 
wide.  By  nightfall  the  whole  countryside  reverberated  with 
the  rumor.  Curious  pilgrims  poured  into  Cana,  eager  to  see 
One  of  whom  such  marvelous  things  were  told.  But  soon 
after  dawn  Jesus  had  departed  too,  traveling  northward  to 
Capernaum,  and  taking  with  Him  the  nucleus  of  His  king- 
dom, His  mother  and  His  disciples,  who  had  seen  His  glory 
for  the  first  time  in  Cana,  and  henceforth  followed  Him  to 
death — and  beyond  death. 


CHAPTER  Y 

THE   DIVINE   PROGRAMME 

At  this  j)omt  in  the  narrative  we  may  wisely  pause  to  in- 
quire what  was  the  programme  of  Jesus  ?  Every  human 
creature,  who  is  not  a  mere  puppet  moved  automatically  at 
the  will  of  fashion  and  custom,  usually  forms  some  more  or 
less  definite  plan  of  life.  The  difference  between  men  is  not 
so  much  a  difference  of  power  as  of  definite  aim.  Where  the 
ordinary  man  drifts  hither  and  thither  at  the  call  of  circum- 
stances, takes  the  first  chance  path,  counting  one  path  as  good 
as  another,  and  acquires  a  superficial  veneer  of  ideas  bor- 
rowed from  many  sources,  the  superior  man  marks  out  a 
course  for  himself,  discriminates  in  all  matters  of  truth  and 
duty,  and  makes  his  life  the  just  expression  of  himself.  Did 
Jesus  thus  define  His  course  ?  We  can  hardly  doubt  it. 
The  exclamation  of  the  young  Boy  in  the  Temple,  "  Wist  ye 
not  that  I  must  be  about  my  Father's  business  ?  "  reveals  an 
early  sense  of  vocation ;  the  last  saying  of  Christ  to  Pontius 
Pilate  defines  that  vocation :  "  To  this  end  was  I  born,  and 
for  this  cause  came  I  into  the  world,  that  I  should  bear  wit- 
ness unto  the  truth." 

Between  these  two  declarations  there  lies  a  wide  tract  of 
life  and  experience.  Each  reveals,  however,  the  same  atti- 
tude of  mind.  Each  expresses  the  temper  of  the  idealist. 
For  all  the  ills  of  humanity,  all  the  subjugations  and  tyran- 
nies under  which  man  groaned,  Jesus  had  one  sovereign 
remedy  :  "  Ye  shall  know  the  truth,  and  the  truth  shall  make 

70 


THE   DIVINE    PROGRAMME  71 

you  free."  All  vital  emancipations  begin  in  the  soul.  The 
soul  that  is  assured  of  truth  has  already  soared  into  an  em- 
pyrean, beyond  the  storms  of  this  troublesome  life,  and 
equally  beyond  its  vain  dreams,  its  empty  perturbations,  its 
unquiet  desires,  and  its  inordinate  affections.  Broadly 
speaking,  Jesus  came  te  teach  men  the  truth  about  God, 
about  themselves,  and  about  their  final  destiny.  He  in- 
cluded all  these  great  themes  in  one  comprehensive  phrase, 
"  The  Kingdom  of  God  or  of  Heaven."  Men  were  to  seek 
the  Kingdom  of  God  first  because  nothing  else  really  mat- 
tered. The  quest  of  truth  was  the  first  duty  of  man,  and  the 
attainment  of  truth  his  loftiest  achievement.  No  definition 
of  spiritual  idealism  could  be  more  complete,  and  the  work 
to  which  Christ  now  addressed  Himself  was  to  impart  the 
spirit  of  His  own  Divine  idealism  to  the  world. 

This  idealism  soon  proved  itself  to  be  the  most  powerful 
of  solvents  when  applied  to  the  current  life  and  thought  of 
the  time.  Thus,  for  example,  the  moment  it  was  applied  to 
the  current  notions  of  Messiahship,  they  disappeared.  The 
last  thing  which  the  ordinary  Jew  expected  of  his  Messiah 
was  a  fresh  revelation  of  truth  ;  what  he  did  expect  was  po- 
litical emancipation.  Jesus  perceived  at  once  the  grossness 
and  incompetence  of  this  conception.  It  was  not  political 
but  spiritual  salvation  which  the  Jew  needed.  The  restora- 
tion of  the  throne  of  David  in  Jerusalem  was  a  triviality 
compared  with  the  emergence  of  the  nation  into  a  higher 
realm  of  truth  and  piety  Patriotism,  in  the  usual  limited 
significance  of  the  word,  had  no  place  among  the  virtues 
which  Jesus  taught,  nor  did  He  account  it  a  virtue.  When 
He  was  directly  challenged  on  the  burning  grievance  of  the 
tribute-money  exacted  by  the  Romans,  he  gave  a  witty  and 
evasive  reply.  But  the  spirit  of  the  reply  is  clear  :  He  con- 
sidered  the   question  not  worth  discussion.     No  word  or 


72  THE    LIFE    OF   CHRIST 

phrase  of  His  can  be  cited  which  can  be  construed  as  a  pro- 
test against  the  Roman  occupation  of  Judea.  It  did  not 
concern  Him ;  neither  did  it  anger  Him.  On  the  contrary 
He  manifested  grave  displeasure  with  His  own  disciples 
when  He  found  that  they  still  clung  to  the  conception  of  a 
political  Messiahship,  and  expected  Him  to  fulfil  it.  His 
mission,  as  He  repeatedly  assured  them,  but  in  vain,  was  to 
emancipate  the  souls  of  men.  No  one  was  more  indifferent 
to  politics,  no  one  less  of  a  patriot.  This  temper  was  bound 
to  provoke  anger  and  hostility.  It  was  the  temper  of  the 
sublime  idealist  who  lives  at  a  height  from  which  all  the 
mere  surface  conditions  of  human  life  are  reduced  to  insig- 
nificance. It  was  unintelligible  to  His  own  disciples .;  it  was 
doubly  unintelligible  and  deeply  offensive  to  a  nation  so  full 
of  patriotic  passion  as  the  Jew.  But  from  the  moment  that 
Jesus  left  Cana  of  Galilee  to  take  up  His  life-Avork,  He  never 
wavered  in  these  convictions.  Political  Messiahship  was 
impossible  to  Him. 

We  shall  see  hereafter  that  some  of  the  bitterest  contro- 
versies of  Christ's  life  centred  round  the  question  of  Messi- 
ahship. It  must  be  remembered  that  the  whole  nation,  di- 
vided as  it  was  into  a  number  of  opposing  factions,  was  prac- 
tically unanimous  in  its  conception  of  a  Messiah  as  a  political 
redeemer.  A  statesman  would  have  recognized  in  Jewish 
patriotism,  expressed  in  this  Messianic  hope,  the  noblest 
quality  of  a  proud  and  subjugated  people.  A  politician 
would  certainly  have  sought  to  manipulate  it  for  the  nation's 
liberation :  a  demagogue  for  his  own  advantage.  A  very  cur- 
sory glance  at  history  is  sufficient  to  assure  us  that  patriot- 
ism has  been  one  of  the  most  potent  and  invigorating  forces 
at  work  in  society,  begetting  many  heroic  virtues,  and  per- 
petually stimulating  nations  on  the  path  of  progress.  Surely, 
then,  it  was  an  act  of  fatal  temerity  in  Christ  to  disregard  it. 


THE    DIVINE    PROGRAMME  73 

But  He  disregarded  it,  not  because  He  scorned  it,  but  because 
it  was  incommensurate  with  the  scale  of  His  ideas.  He  al- 
ready saw  mankind  as  one  race,  one  family  ;  and  He  dreamed 
of  a  sublime  confederation  in  which  all  nations  should  be 
one. 

Such  an  idea  might  have  been  explained  with  some  chance 
of  success  to  the  Greek,  or  to  the  more  philosophic  class  of 
Eoman,  but  it  had  no  chance  whatever  with  the  Jew.  In  one 
respect  it  would  have  appealed  strongly  to  the  Eoman,  and 
in  after  days  did  appeal  successfully.  For  the  Eoman  ideal 
was  the  ideal  of  unity.  The  boundless  ambition  of  Eome 
drew  a  sketch  of  the  whole  world  as  one  empire,  obeying 
common  laws,  moving  to  the  rhythm  of  a  common  life,  fitted 
like  the  manifold  parts  of  a  mosaic  into  one  superb  design 
of  ordered  peace.  And  Eome  was  wise  enough  also  to  per- 
ceive the  advantage  of  religious  unity.  A  simple  and  catholic 
religion,  embracing  all  nations,  was  part  of  her  imperial 
dream.  Was  Jesus  debtor  to  the  Eoman  for  some  of  His 
ideas  which  may  be  described  as  truly  imperial  ?  Did  what 
He  saw  of  Eoman  power  and  life  in  this  semi-paganized 
province  of  Galilee  help  to  broaden  His  thoughts  into  a  cath- 
olic conception  of  humanity,  entirely  foreign  to  the  common 
Jewish  mind  ?  It  is  by  no  means  unlikely  :  but  it  is  at  least 
certain  that  from  the  very  commencement  of  His  ministry  He 
had  ceased  to  speak  as  a  Jew.  His  rejection  of  the  idea  of 
political  Messiahship  was  merely  part  of  an  extraordinary 
emancipation  of  mind,  which  excluded  the  sense  of  nationality 
itself.  He  comes  with  a  concordat  which  is  for  all  peoples. 
He  proclaims  something  far  more  august  than  the  redemp- 
tion of  the  Jew — the  redemption  of  the  world.  In  a  word, 
He  recognizes  that  His  true  Messianic  mission  is  to  establish 
the  religion  of  humanity. 

With  a  religion  of  humanity  for  the  main  article  of  His 


74  THE    LIFE    OF   CHRIST 

programme,  it  soon  became  evident  that  the  relations  of  Jesus 
to  official  Judaism  could  not  be  friendly.  It  is  almost  im- 
possible to  state  in  language  that  does  not  appear  exaggerated 
the  miserable  condition  of  Judaism  in  the  days  of  Christ. 
Three  great  parties  contended  for  pre-eminence  :  the  Priests, 
the  Pharisees,  and  the  Sadducees.  The  priests  had  already 
ceased  to  lead  or  rule  the  national  life.  The  high-priest,  or 
supreme  pontiff,  was  the  merest  puppet  in  the  hands  of  the 
Romans.  The  work  of  the  priests  themselves  was  almost  en- 
tirely ritual  and  formal,  and  they  lived  in  or  near  the  Temple 
at  Jerusalem.  The  reverence  for  the  Temple — a  reverence 
perhaps  as  much  patriotic  as  religious — remained ;  but  the 
multiplication  of  synagogues,  each  with  its  own  set  of  dis- 
putants, had  greatly  undermined  its  influence.  The  Pharisee 
was  in  part  a  zealot,  in  part  a  pedant.  The  Sadducee  was  a 
kind  of  "  moderate  " ;  rich,  cynical,  epicurean,  distrustful  of 
enthusiasm,  agnostic,  and  proud  of  his  agnosticism.  Sama- 
ria, again,  had  a  religious  system  of  its  own,  which  was 
treated  with  unsparing  contempt  by  all  the  other  great  relig- 
ious parties.  Many  sects  existed,  all  at  strife  among  them- 
selves. The  broad  and  plain  outlines  of  Mosaic  morality 
were  overlaid  with  a  mass  of  foolish  and  contemptible  ped- 
antry. Dry-rot  had  eaten  into  the  whole  structure  of  Juda- 
ism. It  still  retained  the  aspect  of  imposing  strength,  but 
all  its  parts  were  dessicated.  It  was  ready  to  fall  at  the  first 
vigorous  blow ;  but  its  renewal  was  impossible. 

We  have  already  noted  that  the  Jewish  mind  is  above  all 
things  subtle,  and  its  strongest  passion  is  a  passion  for  dia- 
lectic. From  dialectic  fervor  to  pedantic  casuistry  is  an  easy 
process  of  degradation.  To  the  casuist  everything  is  dis- 
putable. Nothing  is  seen  in  plain  outlines ;  the  most  defi- 
nite truth  or  duty  is  capable  of  being  refined  away  until  noth- 
ing of  its  original  and  essential  substance  remains.     This  is 


THE   DIVINE    PROGRAMME  75 

precisely  what  had  happened  iu  relation  to  the  Mosaic  law. 
Some  of  the  disputes  of  the  religious  sects  with  Christ,  which 
aroused  the  keenest  animosity,  appear  to  us  of  an  almost  ab- 
surd triviality.  They  frequently  centred  round  the  proper 
observance  of  the  Sabbath-day.  On  one  occasion  Jesus  and 
the  disciples  were  severely  blamed  for  plucking  the  corn  as 
they  passed  through  the  cornfields  on  the  Sabbath-day.  Tal- 
mudic  law  recognized  five  different  species  of  sin  in  this  act : 
To  remove  the  husks  was  sifting  the  corn ;  to  rub  the  heads 
of  corn  was  threshing;  to  clean  away  the  side-adherences 
was  sifting  out  the  fruit ;  to  bruise  the  corn  was  grinding ; 
to  hold  it  up  in  the  hands  was  winnowing.  All  these  acts 
were  forbidden ;  therefore  a  fivefold  damnation  rested  on  him 
who  plucked  and  ate  the  corn  on  the  Sabbath-day !  Yet,  by 
another  quibble,  it  was  permitted  to  a  man  to  remove  a  whole 
sheaf  from  the  field,  if  he  had  previously  laid  upon  it  a  spoon 
in  common  use ;  for  it  was  not  sinful  to  remove  the  spoon, 
and  the  sheaf  might  be  removed  with  the  spoon,  the  sheaf 
being  treated  as  part  of  the  spoon  for  the  time  being ! 

This  is  sufficiently  ridiculous,  but  it  is  worse  than  ridicu- 
lous, since  the  Sabbath  law  manifestly  encouraged  every  form 
of  insincerity  and  hypocrisy.  The  man  who  wished  to  evade 
the  law  which  fixed  two  thousand  cubits  from  his  dwelling  as 
a  "  Sabbath-day's  "  journey,  had  only  to  deposit  food  at  the 
boundary  assigned,  and  the  place  where  the  food  was  depos- 
ited might  be  considered  as  his  dwelling.  He  was  then  free 
to  travel  another  two  thousand  cubits  if  he  wished.  Sixty- 
four  folio  pages  of  the  Talmud  in  use  in  Jerusalem  were  re- 
quired to  state  all  the  possible  cases  of  exigency  and  excuse 
in  the  keeping  of  the  Sabbath,  and  they  are  stated  with  such 
ingenuity  and  pompous  solemnity  that  one  might  suppose 
that  they  involved  the  entire  sum  of  human  destiny.  One 
can  only  imagine  that  the  pious  authors  of  this  document 


76  THE    LIFE    OF   CHRIST 

were  completely  destitute  of  a  sense  of  humor.  But  their 
destitution  of  humor  was  the  least  of  their  offences ;  they 
were  destitute  of  the  spirit  of  humanity.  They  could  argue 
interminably  as  to  how  an  ass  should  be  saddled  so  as  not 
to  offend  against  Sabbath  laAV ;  they  could  spend  years,  as 
one  Rabbi  was  reputed  to  have  done,  over  a  single  chapter  of 
these  sixty -four  folio  columns,  in  order  to  discover  or  remedy 
defects ;  but  for  such  acts  of  mercy  as  healing  the  sick,  or 
even  washing  a  wound,  they  made  no  allowance  whatever. 

What  was  Jesus  to  make  of  a  system  calling  itself  relig- 
ious, which  was  so  vitiated  with  trivialities,  pedantries,  and 
insincerities  as  this  ?  In  truth  He  could  make  nothing  of  it. 
It  was,  as  I  have  said,  incapable  of  reform.  To  the  truly 
fine  elements  in  the  Mosaic  economy  Jesus  never  showed 
Himself  indifferent.  He  repeatedly  declared  that  He  came 
not  to  destroy  the  law  of  Moses  but  to  fulfil  it.  Morality  in 
every  age  has  but  one  language.  Christ  spoke  that  language 
in  accents  which  Moses  would  have  recognized,  but  it  was 
beyond  hope  that  these  degenerate  sons  of  Moses  should 
recognize  it.  He  applied  to  them  the  striking  saying  of 
Isaiah  that  seeing  they  did  not  perceive,  hearing  they  did 
not  hear,  and  did  not  understand.  Very  early  in  His  min- 
istry He  was  driven  to  this  denunciation.  He  who  was  so 
hopeful  of  human  nature  in  general,  so  quick  to  perceive  its 
great  qualities,  so  indulgent  to  its  weaknesses,  had  no  hope 
of  traditional  Judaism.  He  recognized  it  as  a  soil  intracta- 
ble to  even  His  husbandry.  It  resisted  Him  from  the  first, 
and  it  would  always  resist.  There  is  a  point  in  the  decay 
of  religious  systems  beyond  which  renovation  becomes  im- 
possible. Mere  decay  may  be  cut  away ;  but  as  in  some 
soils  and  natures,  apparently  plastic,  there  runs  a  stratum 
which  turns  the  edge  of  the  finest  weapon,  so  deep  stratas  of 
stubbornness  and  obstinacy  ran  through  the  pedantic  pietisrn 


THE    DIVINE    PROGRAMME  77 

of  the  Jew,  which  turned  the  edge  of  all  reform.  When  this 
happens  the  only  real  reformer  is  the  iconoclast.  Such  sys- 
tems must  be  wholly  broken  up,  and  the  old  must  be  thor- 
oughly razed  to  the  ground  before  the  new  can  rise.  Jesus 
knew  that  He  came  as  an  iconoclast,  and  this  iconoclasm  was 
an  essential  part  of  the  programme  with  which  He  confronted 
the  Jewish  world. 

The  spirit  in  which  Jesus  interpreted  this  iconoclastic  part 
of  His  programme  is  worthy  of  attentive  study.  It  is  most 
easily  recognized  in  His  total  aversion  from  many  forms  and 
ceremonies  to  which  the  Jew  attached  great  importance. 
Thus,  upon  one  occasion,  He  and  His  followers  were  accused 
of  not  washing  their  hands  before  meat.  To  the  act  itself 
Christ  could  have  had  no  objection,  for  it  was  part  of  that 
admirable  system  of  hygiene  which  ruled  all  Jewish  life. 
But  it  was  also  part  of  a  religious  system  which  attached 
wrong  values  to  things.  In  all  external  matters  the  Jew  was 
a  bigoted  formalist.  Christ  described  this  formalism  as  a 
mere  washing  of  the  cup  and  platter,  and,  in  yet  more  strik- 
ing language,  as  a  care  for  external  cleanliness  when  the 
heart  was  full  of  all  uncleanness.  Hence  in  so  small  a  mat- 
ter as  the  ritual  washing  of  hands  before  a  meal  He  deemed 
protest  necessary.  Ritualism  of  all  kinds  He  abhorred. 
He  speaks  in  scorn  of  the  phylacteries  of  the  Pharisees. 
He  deliberately  compares  the  humble  attitude  of  a  publican 
in  the  Temple  with  the  self-righteous  attitude  of  a  Pharisee 
who  has  fulfilled  every  obligation  of  the  law.  He  perceives 
that  one  of  the  most  deadly  effects  of  ritualism  is  to  put  ex- 
ternal rectitude  in  the  place  of  internal  piety  and  virtue. 
The  men  who  are  most  careful  over  the  tithe  of  mint,  and 
anise,  and  cummin,  omit  altogether  "the  weightier  matters 
of  the  law,  judgment,  mercy,  and  faith."  They  "  strain  at  a 
gnat  and  swallow  a  camel."     They  fall  into  the  common 


78  THE    LIFE    OF   CHRIST 

error  of  all  extreme  ritualists,  they  exaggerate  the  value  of 
trifles,  they  forget  essentials,  they  see  the  duties  of  life  and 
piety  in  a  false  perspective.  Yet,  in  spite  of  all  that  is  ped- 
dling and  contemj)tible  in  the  popular  observance  of  the 
Mosaic  law,  Christ  never  loses  sight  of  the  real  dignity  of 
that  law.  He  praises  it,  and  conforms  to  it.  He  tells  those 
whom  He  has  healed  to  offer  such  gifts  in  the  Temple  as  are 
prescribed  by  the  law  of  Moses.  His  last  public  act  is  to 
eat  the  Passover  with  His  disciples  at  Jerusalem,  though  He 
well  knew  that  He  risked  His  life  and  theirs  by  being  pres- 
ent in  Jerusalem  at  such  a  time.  Thus  if  Jesus  may  be 
called  an  iconoclast,  and  a  determined  opponent  of  tradi- 
tional Judaism,  never  was  there  an  iconoclasm  tempered  by 
so  fine  a  tolerance  or  directed  by  so  broad  a  spirit  of  piety 
and  sympathy. 

In  His  aversion  from  the  pedantries  and  formalism  of 
Judaism,  it  is  natural  that  His  attention  should  have  been 
specially  directed  to  the  poor.  Although  the  acute  dispari- 
ties between  poverty  and  wealth  were  not  felt  in  the  way  in 
which  they  are  felt  in  modern  civilization,  yet  they  existed, 
and  they  were  accentuated  by  the  spirit  of  contempt  with 
which  the  ruling  classes  regarded  the  mass  of  the  peojne. 
The  superiority  claimed  by  wealth  is  capable  of  great  in- 
solence and  cruelty ;  but  when  there  is  added  to  this  the 
superiority  of  religious  pride,  the  effects  are  still  more  dis- 
astrous. Both  these  forces  were  active,  and  malignantly 
active,  in  the  social  life  of  Christ's  day.  The  lips  of  the 
Pharisee  were  never  free  from  terms  of  contempt  for  those 
who  were  not  as  himself.  All  country-born  people  were  de- 
rided as  ignorant.  Whole  provinces  were  stigmatized  by  a 
blighting  epithet.  Samaria  was  a  "  city  of  fools  "  ;  no  good 
thing  could  come  out  of  Nazareth ;  Galilee  was  ridiculed  as 
having  no  unleavened  bread  in  it,  that  is,  its  entire  popula- 


THE    DIVINE    PROGRAMME  70 

tion  was  tainted  with  the  yeast  of  foreign  admixture.  The 
poor  also  suffered  from  many  unjust  exactions  made  in  the 
name  of  religion.  The  priests  at  Jerusalem  grew  wealthy  by 
these  exactions.  Yet  the  Jewish  Psalms  were  full  of  the 
praises  of  poverty ;  Hillel,  one  of  the  greatest  of  recent 
teachers,  had  taught  the  blessedness  of  a  humble  state ;  and 
a  great  party,  called  the  Ebionite,  existed,  whose  peculiar 
tenet  was  the  divine  privilege  of  poverty.  To  this  party 
Christ  was  attracted  both  by  His  sympathies  and  His  ex- 
perience. He  had  lived  a  poor  man's  life,  He  knew  the  kind 
of  virtues  which  it  fostered,  and  He  knew  how  painful  was 
the  contempt  that  it  endured.  The  poor  needed  a  champiou, 
and  He  esteemed  such  championship  a  duty  and  a  privilege. 
Thus  He  claims  as  one  of  the  original  features  of  His  min- 
istry that  the  poor  have  the  Gospel  preached  to  them,  and  it 
is  a  theme  of  joyous  congratulation  with  the  Evangelists  that 
the  common  people  heard  Him  gladly. 

Yet  here  again  the  fine  tolerance  of  Christ's  mind  should 
be  noticed.  He  was  not  an  Ebionite  any  more  than  He  was 
an  ascetic.  He  knew  that  His  kingdom  would  naturally  ap- 
peal more  powerfully  to  the  poor  than  to  the  rich,  and  would 
be  largely  composed  of  them ;  but  He  never  defined  in  such 
a  way  as  to  exclude  the  wealthy.  He  offers  no  objection  to 
the  inequalities  of  society  as  such.  He  utters  no  sweeping 
condemnations  of  wealth  as  in  itself  evil.  He  treats  the  pos- 
session of  wealth  not  as  a  crime  but  as  a  trust.  He  points 
out  with  equal  truth  and  justice  that  the  peril  of  riches  is 
their  "  deceitfulness."  They  deceive  men  into  a  sense  of  the 
complete  sufncingness  of  the  present  life.  The  sin  of  Dives 
is  not  that  he  is  wealthy,  not  even  that  he  fared  sumptuously 
every  day,  but  that  he  forgot  the  obligations  of  wealth, 
epitomized  in  the  beggar  at  his  gate.  The  sin  of  the  rich 
man  who  added  barn  to  barn  was  not  the  wealth  which  was 


80  THE   LIFE   OF   CHRIST 

in  a  real  sense  a  tribute  to  his  energy  of  character,  and  the 
fruit  of  his  industry,  but  that  he  forgot  his  own  soul.  So 
far  was  Christ  from  scorning  the  wealthy  and  holding  aloof 
from  them,  that  He  always  treated  them  with  courtesy, 
shared  their  hospitality,  and  felt  no  inconsistency  in  beiug 
their  guest.  Those  who  resent  the  contempt  that  is  meas- 
ured out  to  poverty  often  retort  with  a  corresponding  con- 
tempt of  wealth.  But  Christ  held  contempt  of  human  nature 
in  any  form  as  wrong.  A  champion  of  the  poor  He  could 
be,  but  a  revolutionary  demagogue  He  could  not  be.  The 
truth  about  His  attitude  to  social  inequalities  is  perhaps  best 
expressed  by  saying  that  they  only  interested  Him  by  their 
moral  effects.  It  was  not  the  temporary  condition  of  human 
existence  that  interested  Him  most  deeply ;  it  was  human 
nature  itself. 

The  natural  sequence  of  such  a  temper  of  thought  as  this 
is  a  new  religion  of  humanity.  Starting  with  the  principle 
that  men  court  spiritual  phenomena,  and  that  the  only  reform 
worth  caring  for  was  a  reform  of  the  spirit,  the  conclusion 
was  a  religion  of  humanity  which  treated  all  men  as  equal. 
They  were  equal  not  in  their  powers  of  mind  or  body,  still 
less  in  their  social  conditions,  but  they  were  equal  in  their 
capacity  for  spiritual  life.  They  were  children  of  a  common 
Father  and  heirs  of  a  common  destiny.  This  is  the  real 
keynote  of  all  Christ's  thought.  This  is  the  real  explanation 
of  His  friendly  attitude  to  the  Samaritan  Avhom  the  Jew  de- 
spised, and  the  Roman  whom  he  hated.  Men  and  women 
of  whatever  nationality,  of  whatever  order  of  life,  found 
themselves  no  longer  treated  with  that  contempt  which  lies 
at  the  root  of  all  social  evils.  They  discovered  in  Jesus  a 
teacher  who  treated  them  as  equally  worthy  of  regard  and 
friendship,  for  He  had  in  a  sense  rediscovered  the  genuine 
worth    of   human    nature.     Pity,   sympathy,   and    love   met 


THE    DIVINE    PROGRAMME  81 

them,  instead  of  ostracism  and  misunderstanding.  He  who 
called  Himself  the  Son  of  Man  was  the  friend  of  all  men. 
The  new  religion  was  to  prove  the  one  absolute  religion, 
because  it  was  the  one  truly  catholic  religion.  Henceforth 
all  passing  distinctions  of  class  and  race  were  obliterated  in 
one  immortal  conception,  "  God  is  your  Father,  and  all  ye 
are  brethren." 


CHAPTER  YI 


IDYLLIC    DAYS 


The  return  of  Jesus  from  Cana  to  Capernaum  was  prob- 
ably a  kind  of  triumph.  Young,  gracious,  fascinating,  He 
had  by  a  single  act  endeared  Himself  to  a  multitude  of  hum- 
ble peoj)le.  The  rapid  growth  of  His  popularity  is  easily 
explicable  when  we  recollect  the  crowded  condition  of  Galilee, 
and  the  extraordinary  swiftness  with  which  rumor  travels 
among  Oriental  peoples  in  times  of  excitement.  Residents 
in  India  have  often  told  us  marvelous  stories  of  how  the 
telegraph  itself  has  been  outstripped  by  the  speed  of  popular 
rumor.  Things  which  the  authorities  have  treated  as  pro- 
foundly secret  are  openly  discussed  in  bazaars  and  market- 
places a  thousand  miles  away.  The  whisper  of  the  states- 
man's closet  vibrates  through  an  empire.  It  would  seem 
that  a  kind  of  freemasonry,  the  methods  of  which  are  never 
known  to  persons  in  authority,  exists  among  these  subtle- 
witted  and  silent  populations  of  the  East,  and  by  its  means 
news  is  desseminated  as  by  the  birds  of  the  air. 

Galilee  resembled  a  province  of  Judea  in  its  crowded  life, 
and  the  presence  of  the  conquering  Romans  drove  the  people 
to  a  thousand  means  of  underground  communication.  Within 
a  very  narrow  tract  of  country  were  found  more  than  two 
hundred  towns  and  villages,  with  an  average  population  of 
about  fifteen  thousand.  The  whisper  of  what  had  happened 
in  Cana  travelled  fast.  From  lip  to  lip,  in  synagogues  and 
bazaars ;  among  the  fishing  boats  upon  the  lake,  and  far 

82 


IDYLLIC   DAYS  83 

away  in  the  fish-market  at  Jerusalem ;  in  the  caravans  that 
filled  the  main  roads,  and  among  the  distant  hamlets  of  the 
hills,  there  spread  the  thrilling  news  that  the  Messiah  had  ap- 
peared. Already  from  the  fords  of  Jordan  there  had  drifted 
back  to  these  towns  and  cities  the  disciples  of  John,  each  of 
whom  had  reported  to  excited  throngs  what  John  had  said 
of  Jesus.  Peter  and  Andrew,  James  and  John,  each  had  his 
tale  to  tell.  The  marvelous  escape  of  Jesus  from  the  furious 
crowd  at  Nazareth  was  bruited  far  and  wide,  and  now  there 
came  the  story  of  the  wedding  in  Cana,  with  all  its  glowing 
charm  of  kindness  and  of  miracle.  The  first  touch  of  Jesus 
on  the  strings  of  life  had  evoked  the  chord  of  a  boundless 
love  and  admiration.     He  was  already  a  popular  hero. 

Idyllic  days  followed.  It  was  perhaps  now  that,  for  the 
first  time,  He  began  to  teach  in  the  open  air.  The  local 
synagogues  could  not  contain  the  throngs  of  those  who 
sought  to  see  and  hear  Him.  Sometimes  He  sat  upon  a  hill- 
side and  discoursed  to  these  eager  throngs,  who  forgot  all 
sense  of  time  while  He  spoke.  At  other  times  a  friendly 
fisherman  lent  Him  his  boat,  and  from  it  He  would  address 
a  great  multitude  that  stood  upon  the  shores  of  the  lake.  In 
the  bright  spring  weather,  when  all  nature  was  fermenting 
with  new  life,  His  own  mind  expanded  with  a  similar  joy  of 
growth.  He  uttered  exquisite  truths  with  the  ease  and 
felicity  of  a  poet  who  is  assured  of  the  boundless  resources 
of  his  own  genius.  He  scattered  gems  of  thought  with  a 
prodigal  profusion.  Admiration  melted  into  adoration.  The 
multitude  followed  Him  from  place  to  place,  with  the  grow- 
ing sense  that  here  was  One  whom  it  would  be  good  to 
follow  to  the  world's  end. 

It  was  a  kind  of  Renaissance  of  Judaism  which  He  inau- 
gurated by  the  waters  of  this  sacred  lake.  The  formalities 
which  had  all  but  killed  Judaism  were  stripped  away  like 


84  THE   LIFE    OF   CHRIST 

choking  parasitic  growths  from  a  fair  flower,  and  the  flower 
shot  up  in  unsuspected  splendor.  Men  whispered  to  one 
another  as  He  spoke  that  He  taught  with  authority  and  not 
as  the  scribes.  Yet  in  reality  He  taught  at  this  time  nothing 
that  was  absolutely  new.  All  the  precious  beatitudes  of  His 
most  formal  utterance — the  Sermon  on  the  Mount — are  but 
reaffirmations  of  truths  familiar  to  all  readers  of  the  Hebrew 
scriptures.  They  are  gems  of  Hebrew  thought  and  morality 
new-set.  But  to  these  thrilled  and  enthusiastic  crowds  it 
was  as  though  the  cold  gem  throbbed  with  fire,  and  became 
a  living  thing.  It  was  not  merely  new-set ;  it  was  re-created. 
The  commonplaces  of  morality  became  original  discoveries 
of  truth  as  He  uttered  them.  They  sounded  simple  and 
familiar ;  He  made  men  feel  that  they  were  also  profound 
and  new.  Just  as  every  flower  beside  the  lake  was  in  reality 
a  new  creation,  though  it  obeyed  a  type  on  which  centuries 
had  set  their  seal,  so  Christ  called  forth  from  these  seeds  of 
old  morality  truths  which  seemed  to  have  sprung  up  there 
and  then  for  the  first  time. 

A  juster  illustration  of  this  process  may  perhaps  be  found 
in  what  we  understand  as  the  primary  colors  of  art,  or  the 
primary  notes  of  music.  The  primary  colors  are  few :  great 
artists  liks  Titian  or  Gainsborough  used  but  six  or  seven. 
The  common  notes  of  music  are  few  :  so  few  that  a  famous 
philosopher  once  lamented  the  approaching  extinction  of 
music  as  a  growing  art,  because  in  time  all  possible  musical 
combinations  would  be  exhausted.  But  experience  teaches 
us  that  the  artist  cannot  exhaust  the  possible  combinations 
of  color,  nor  the  musician  the  possible  combinations  of  mu- 
sical notation.  In  the  degree  that  an  artist  or  musician  is  a 
man  of  original  genius,  he  makes  the  art  he  produces  an 
original  thing.  In  the  same  way  Christ  availed  Himself 
freely  of  all  the  materials  of  Hebrew  morality.     Absolute 


IDYLLIC   DAYS  85 

originality  is  impossible  to  man.  The  man  who  is  egoistic 
enough  to  suppose  that  he  can  attain  it  soon  discovers  that 
he  treads  a  road  worn  by  the  footprints  of  millions,  and  the 
truth  he  supposed  new  is  no  sooner  uttered  than  it  is  re- 
echoed back  to  him  from  a  hundred  generations  that  have 
been  before  him.  The  only  true  originality  consists  in  see- 
ing things  with  a  fresh  eye,  passing  them  through  the  alem- 
bic of  an  individual  experience,  and  reporting  them  with 
undeviating  lucidity  and  precision.  This  was  what  Jesus 
did  in  all  His  teaching.  All  the  old  colors  of  Hebrew  teach- 
ing were  in  His  thought  but  the  result  was  new.  All  the 
old  notes  of  Hebrew  philosophy  were  sounded  by  Him,  but 
the  music  He  drew  from  them  had  a  loftier  method  and  a 
larger  rhythm.  The  forms  of  things  were  familiar,  but  the 
form  was  penetrated  and  illuminated  by  His  own  powerful 
and  gracious  personality. 

He  adapted  His  teachings  with  inevitable  skill  to  the  minds 
of  His  hearers.  He  treated  conduct  not  as  three-fourths  of 
life,  but  the  whole  of  life.  The  distinction  between  thought 
and  conduct  is  both  mischievous  and  misleading.  Thoughts 
and  emotions  are  but  actions  in  embryo.  What  we  do  is  but 
the  ripened  seed  of  what  we  are.  Jesus,  at  this  period,  and 
for  a  long  time  to  come,  treated  conduct  as  the  one  thing 
worth  talking  about.  He  spake  to  men  and  women  of  the 
common  cares  and  anxieties  which  compose  so  large  a  part 
of  life.  He  blamed  them  for  the  folly  of  laborious  prepara- 
tion for  a  day  that  might  never  come.  He  counselled  them 
to  reconcile  themselves  to  the  element  of  the  inevitable,  the 
l^w  of  limitations,  which  is  found  in  every  life.  Bounds  were 
set  for  them  which  they  could  not  overpass  ;  all  the  thinking 
in  the  world  could  not  add  a  cubit  to  their  stature.  As  He 
sat  beside  the  lake  and  saw  the  hills  gay  with  purple  lilies, 
and  the  birds  busy  in  their  innocent  and  frugal  life,  Nature 


86  THE    LIFE    OF   CHRIST 

herself  adorned  His  discourse  with  illustrations.  The  flow- 
ers grew,  the  birds  were  fed ;  life  and  food  were  all  that  men 
could  rightfully  demand  from  God,  and  these  things  God  de- 
nied to  none.  The  real  wants  of  men  were  few,  the  artificial 
many.  Human  misery  sj)rang  from  the  dissatisfactions  of  an 
artificial  method  of  life.  Blessedness  lay  not  in  the  gratifica- 
tion of  desires,  but  in  their  moderation.  Poverty,  thus  con- 
sidered, was  not  a  state  of  degradation  but  of  beatitude.  The 
chief  auditors  of  these  discourses  were  poor  and  work-worn 
people.  Jesus  made  them  feel  the  real  dignity  of  life,  and 
few  services  which  it  is  in  the  power  of  the  wise  to  render  to 
the  humble  is  comparable  with  this. 

In  a  moment  of  happy  inspiration  Jesus  invented  an  en- 
tirely new  form  of  discourse,  possible  only  to  a  mind  essen- 
tially poetic.  He  began  to  teach  the  people  in  parables,  and 
the  method  was  so  successful  that  it  is  said  that  henceforth 
He  taught  them  in  no  other  way.  He  told  them  stories,  so 
apt,  so  skilfully  contrived,  so  suggestive,  that  once  heard 
they  were  never  forgotten.  Those  who  have  seen  the  Oriental 
story-teller  in  some  Eastern  market-place  will  have  remarked 
upon  the  extraordinary  spell  which  he  appears  to  exercise. 
He  begins  at  dawn,  he  ends  at  eve,  and  there  is  no  moment 
of  the  long  day  when  there  is  not  a  multitude  gathered  at  his 
feet.  Time  and  occupation  are  equally  forgotten  in  the  fas- 
cination of  his  narrative ;  the  whole  scene  is  a  living  com- 
ment on  the  saying  of  Moses,  that  "  we  spend  our  days  as 
as  a  tale  that  is  told."  Eipples  of  laughter  run  through  the 
audience,  glances  of  admiration  are  exchanged,  and  at  times 
the  power  of  tragedy  hushes  the  crowd  into  breathless  si- 
lence. So  Jesus  spoke  to  these  rapt  throngs  beside  the  Lake 
of  Galilee.  His  mind  expressed  itself  most  freely  and  more 
perfectly  in  these  imaginative  forms.  He  was  capable  of 
translating  the  humblest  incident  of  common  life  into  a  poem, 


IDYLLIC   DAYS  87 

often  into  a  tragedy.  He  used  at  will  every  weapon  of  the 
story-teller — irony,  sarcasm,  humor,  pathos,  an  extraordinary 
grace  of  narrative,  and  an  unequalled  power  of  dramatic  in- 
vention. After  the  sterile  platitudes,  and  the  still  more  ster- 
ile disputes  and  casuistries  of  the  synagogue  how  great  the 
change !  The  people  were  as  children  discovering  for  the 
first  time  the  wonder  of  life.  They  thrilled,  they  wept,  they 
wondered,  moved  this  way  and  that  at  the  will  of  the  speaker. 
They  were  ready  even  to  follow  Him  by  thousands  into  a 
wilderness,  and  to  forego  food  for  the  sake  of  a  delight  so 
novel  and  so  exquisite. 

A  note  of  unfailing  cheerfulness,  a  note  of  joyous  emanci- 
pation characterized  these  discourses.  He  spoke  as  one  who 
had  no  cares  and  knew  not  what  they  meant.  He  thus  be- 
came, as  it  were,  the  incarnation  of  the  spirit  of  joy,  the 
symbol  of  the  bliss  of  life.  Most  thoughtful  men  who  live 
under  highly  civilized  conditions  of  society  have  moments  of 
depression  and  disgust,  when  they  ask  whether  the  price  they 
pay  for  civilization  is  not  too  great.  The  man  who  gives  his 
life  to  the  strenuous  programme  of  personal  ambition  is 
rarely  satisfied  with  the  result.  He  is  afflicted  with  a  dismal 
suspicion  that  whatever  may  be  his  success  he  has  made  but 
a  poor  bargain.  In  the  end  he  is  apt  to  exclaim,  "What 
shadows  we  are,  and  what  shadows  we  pursue ! "  "Whole 
races  and  literatures  are  from  time  to  time  afflicted  with  this 
kind  of  world-weary  pessimism.  "When  the  malady  reaches 
its  height  some  one  is  sure  to  appear  with  the  old  and  sure 
remedy  of  a  return  to  nature.  Jesus  came  with  this  remedy. 
He  insisted  on  the  simplification  of  life  as  the  means  of 
available  happiness.  Men  had  ransacked  the  earth  for  the 
secret  of  happiness  and  had  forgotten  to  water  the  flower  of 
felicity  that  grew  at  their  own  doors.  A  case  in  point  was 
the  Roman  patrician,  who  had  sought  "  all  these  things  " — 


88  THE    LIFE    OF   CHRIST 

fine  raiment,  luxurious  food,  gorgeous  habitations,  power  and 
fame,  and  yet  was  not  nappy.  On  the  contrary  Christ  re- 
vealed Himself  as  having  nothing  yet  having  all  things,  as 
poor  yet  rich,  as  humble  in  condition  yet  absolutely  happy. 
He  defended  happiness  as  the  natural  right  of  man.  H  man 
Avas  unhappy  it  was  because  he  had  misconstrued  the  terms 
of  his  life.  Christ's  own  sweet  and  gracious  gaiety  of  heart 
proved  contagious.  The  crowds  who  gathered  round  Him 
were  joyous  crowds.  At  His  word  the  world  had  become 
young  again ;  care  and  grief  were  forgotten ;  it  was  a  multi- 
tude of  happy  children  that  sat  beside  the  lake,  emancipated 
from  themselves,  and  from  all  the  "  burden  of  this  unintelli- 
gible world."  "When  the  Pharisees,  who  approved  the  sterner 
rule  of  John,  complained  of  this  Galilean  joyousness,  Jesus 
answered  with  a  striking  saying,  suggested  possibly  by  the 
recent  marriage  feast  at  Cana,  the  story  of  which  was  fresh 
in  every  memory.  "And  Jesus  said  unto  them,  Can  the 
children  of  the  bride-chamber  mourn  as  long  as  the  bride- 
groom is  with  them?  But  the  days  will  come  when  the 
bridegroom  shall  be  taken  away  from  them,  and  then  shall 
they  fast" 

Perhaps  no  aspect  of  Christ's  mind  and  teaching  Las  been 
so  generally  neglected  as  this  cheerful  joyousness,  this  en- 
thusiastic unworldliness  and  delight  in  poverty.  As  a  rale 
it  has  been  neglected  because  it  has  been  found  inconvenient 
to  remember  it.  The  Eoman,  who  represents  all  that  we  de- 
scribe as  civilization,  has  only  too  successfully  contested  the 
ground  with  the  Galilean,  who  represents  idyllic  and  para- 
disal  life.  The  civilized  man  almost  invariably  makes  a  fetish 
of  civilization.  He  cannot  be  persuaded  that  lack  of  social 
ambition  is  anything  but  folly.  Nor  can  he  understand  that 
a  return  to  nature  means  anything  but  social  anarchy.  In 
spite  of  many  grave  misgivings  as  to  the  wisdom  of  the  con- 


IDYLLIC   DAYS  89 

ventional  plan  of  life,  the  average  man  cannot  be  persuaded 
to  alter  it.  Hence  the  real  beauty  of  this  Galilean  idyll  is 
never  visible  to  him :  or,  at  least,  it  is  never  perceived  as  af- 
fording a  practicable  plan  of  life.  There  can  be  no  doubt, 
however,  that  Jesus  did  regard  this  early  Galilean  Gospel  as 
containing  the  only  truly  wise  and  practicable  plan  of  life. 
A  considerable  allowance  must,  of  course,  be  made  for  the 
conditions  of  time,  place,  and  circumstance,  under  which  it 
was  enunciated.  In  a  climate  such  as  Galilee  possessed  it 
was  no  real  hardship  to  be  poor ;  nor  was  a  frugal  mode  of 
life  difficult,  in  a  condition  of  society  where  luxury  was  rare. 
But  these  qualifications  do  little  to  alter  the  essential  fact, 
which  is  that  the  simpler  life  is  in  its  mode  and  scheme,  the 
likelier  is  it  to  be  happy.  The  troublesome  cares  of  food 
and  raiment,  social  custom  and  position,  eat  deeply  into  a 
man's  heart,  consume  his  time  and  energy,  and  destroy  his 
capacity  for  the  natural  and  enduring  forms  of  happiness. 
Few  persons  will  seriously  dispute  that  in  the  lives  of  such 
peasants  and  dalesmen  as  "Wordsworth  commemorates,  or  in 
Wordsworth's  own  life,  there  were  found  a  larger  number  of 
exquisite  moments  of  joy,  together  with  more  solid  and  suf- 
ficing pleasure,  than  can  be  discovered  in  the  most  successful 
life  of  the  anxious  merchant  or  the  scheming  politician. 
This  may  be  taken  as  Christ's  doctrine  of  the  simplification 
of  life  interpreted  in  modern  synonyms.  The  whole  subject 
is  admirably  stated  in  a  verse  of  Russell  Lowell's  : — 

"  For  a  cap  and  boll  our  lives  wo  pay, 

Bubbles  we  earn  with  a  whole  life's  tasking ; 
'Tis  only  God  that  is  given  away. 

'Tis  only  Heaven  may  be  had  for  the  asking." 

The  true  tragedy  of  life  is  not  poverty ;  it  is  the  mis- 
directed effort  of  men,  who  avoid  poverty  indeed,  but  discover 


90  THE    LIFE    OF    CHRIST 

later  on  that  they  have  spent  their  strength  for  nought,  and 
toiled  for  that  which  is  not  bread. 

Jesus  did  not  seek  to  do  more  than  impart  elementary 
truth  to  these  Galilean  crowds.  Nor  can  it  be  said  that  He 
was  anything  but  tolerant  and  wide-minded  in  the  rule  of 
life  which  He  enunciated  to  them.  His  text  day  by  day 
was  the  same  :  First  things  first — "  Seek  ye  first  the  King- 
dom of  God  and  His  righteousness."  He  did  not  say, 
"First  things  only" — that  is  the  language  of  the  monk  and 
the  fanatic.  His  definition  of  right  conduct  allowed  ample 
scope  for  the  various  fulfilments  of  human  taste  and  capac- 
ity. The  merchant  may  be  a  merchant  still,  the  artist  an 
artist,  but  he  must  first  of  all  be  a  Christian.  Every  form 
of  culture  may  adorn  the  life  of  man,  but  spiritual  culture 
comes  first.  His  tolerance  was  extended  even  to  the  lives  of 
publicans  and  soldiers.  There  is  no  recorded  instance  of 
His  having  condemned  the  lives  of  these  men ;  He  saw  in 
their  pursuits,  hateful  as  they  were  to  the  Jew,  nothing  irrec- 
oncilable with  a  true  reception  of  His  doctrine.  He  was 
content  if  He  enabled  them  to  see  the  nature  of  human  life 
in  its  true  perspective.  When  once  self  ceased  to  be  the 
pivot  of  life  all  other  reformations  of  habit  would  follow. 
Egoism  is  the  real  curse  of  man.  When  a  man  is  freed  from 
egoism  he  takes  his  place  once  more  as  a  contented  unit  in 
the  Divine  order  of  the  universe.  All  his  thoughts  that  were 
once  turned  inward,  to  his  own  self-torture,  are  now  turned 
outward,  and  he  begins  to  feel  the  joy  of  existence.  His 
li'fe  then  moves  in  real  rhythm  with  the  life  of  the  universe. 
Many  men  have  taught  these  things,  but  the  power  of  Jesus 
was  that  He  exemplified  them.  Men  looked  into  His  eyes 
and  knew  the  doctrine  true.  He  had  found  the  secret  of 
happiness  which  all  the  nations  of  the  world  had  missed. 
It  was  the  attractive  power  of  this  happiness  that  drew  these 


IDYLLIC   DAYS  91 

thousands  day  by  day  to  the  lake  shore  on  the  mountain- 
side. He  offered  them  the  wine  of  life,  the  new  wine  of  the 
Kingdom  of  God,  and  they  could  not  drink  deep  enough  of 
a  draught  so  divinely  inebriating.  Day  followed  day  in  a 
sort  of  miraculous  bridal  feast ;  for  was  not  the  Bridegroom 
with  them? 

One  searches  history  in  vain  to  discover  anything  quite 
like  the  idyll  of  these  Galilean  days.  The  nearest  counter- 
part is  the  career  of  Francis  of  Assisi.  The  power  of  Francis 
lay  in  a  certain  exquisite  charm  of  joyousness  and  goodness. 
His  happiness  was  so  complete  that  men  instinctively  turned 
to  look  after  him  as  he  passed,  as  though  a  strain  of  heavenly 
music  vibrated  on  the  air.  He  was  poet  and  a  nature-lover, 
calling  himself  by  the  delightful  title  of  the  "  troubador  of 
God."  The  sight  of  flowers  and  woods  and  nesting  birds, 
and  all  the  sunny  firniaraent  of  the  Umbrian  spring,  intoxi- 
cated him  with  ecstasy,  and  made  all  his  words  lyric.  The 
simplicity,  sweetness,  and  purity  of  the  man  overcame  all 
prejudice  against  his  doctrines.  Great  Churchmen  like 
Cardinal  Ugolino  and  St.  Dominic,  full  of  the  pride  of 
learning  and  of  power,  became  as  little  children  in  his  pres- 
ence, and  thrilled  and  wept.  A  hush  of  something  more 
than  admiration — of  affection,  reverence,  tenderness — finds 
its  way  into  the  voices  of  all  who  have  spoken  of  him.  The 
accounts  of  his  preaching  vividly  suggest  many  scenes  that 
happened  by  the  Galilean  lake.  Men  describe  these  utter- 
ances as  rather  kindly  conversations  than  orations,  de- 
livered with  such  an  accent  of  sincerity  and  tenderness  that 
enemies  were  reconciled,  social  pride  was  forgotten,  multi- 
tudes wept  they  knew  not  why,  and  sought  to  kiss  the  hem 
of  his  robe  as  he  passed  through  them.  Even  the  model  of 
his  face  taken  instantly  after  death  affects  us  with  the  same 
sensations.     The  brow,  so  pure  and  peaceful,  the  mouth  and 


92  THE    LIFE    OF   CHRIST 

eyes  so  wistfully   affectionate,  call  for  love  and  inspire  it. 
After  seven  centuries,  the  roads  lie  trod,  the  places  lie  fre- 
quented, seem  still  haunted  by  his  presence,  and  it  is  with  a 
softened  and  a  glowing  heart  the  traveler  follows   in   his 
footsteps.     With  such  a  story,  still  fresh  and  real,  and  in  all 
its  main  outlines  undoubtedly  authentic,  it  is  not  difficult  to 
understand  the   scenes  in  these  little  Eastern  towns  when 
Jesus  drew  nigh  to  them.     If  Umbria  is  yet  sacred  to  the 
reverent  heart  for  the  sake  of  Francis,  how  much  more  sacred 
these  silent  shores  of  Galilee,  where  Jesus  moved  in  all  the 
first  charm  of  His  joyous  grace,  drawing  all  men  after  Him. 
The  first  utterance  of  a  great  poet  often  has  a  flute-like 
freshness  of  note  never  quite  recaptured.     It  was  so  with 
Jesus.     His  mind  was  to  move  upon  an  ever-widening  orbit, 
His  teachings  were  to  unfold  profounder  truths   than  any 
uttered  to  these  earliest  disciples;  but  the  idyll  of  these 
Galilean  days  remains  for  ever  inapproachable   in  charm. 
He  never  spoke  again  in  quite  the  same  accent  of  untroubled 
joy.     He  never  found  elsewhere  an  audience  so  immediately 
responsive  to  His  touch.     Controversies,  becoming  more  and 
more   embittered   as   His   ministry  increased   in    influence, 
awaited  Him,  and  we  shall  see  hereafter  with  what  relief  He 
returned  again  and  again  to  Galilee.     Probably  His  first  so- 
journ in  Galilee  was  very  brief,  although  it  may  have  been 
quite  long  enough  for  the  utterance  of  His  most  characteristic 
teachings  upon  conduct.     St.  John  tells  us  that  after  return- 
ing from  Cana  to  Capernaum,  Ho  abode   there   not  many 
days ;  but  the  term  "  day  "  is  one  of  somewhat  vague  signif- 
icance in  Gospel  history.     It  seems  at  least  likely  that  He 
remained  long  enough  to  commence  those   wonderful  dis- 
courses by  the  lake,  for  immediately  afterwards  we  find  Him 
in  Jerusalem,  exercising  a  kind  of  authority  which    could 
only  have  been  based  on  previous  popularity.     We   have 


IDYLLIC   DAYS  93 

now  therefore  to  follow  Him  to  Jerusalem,  and  to  witness  a 
scene  not  less  remarkable  than  these  scenes  beside  the  lake, 
but  of  a  quite  different  significance.  The  first  fresh  note  of 
joy  is  lost  for  a  time  in  the  discord  of  controversy,  and 
already  there  is  heard  the  premonitory  note  of  tragedy. 


CHAPTER  VII 

THE   CLEANSING  OP  THE  TEMPLE 

"While  Jesus  was  engaged  in  these  teachings  beside  the 
lake,  the  signs  of  preparation  for  the  greatest  of  all  Jewish 
festivals  had  begun  to  appear  throughout  the  towns  and  vil- 
lages of  Galilee.  The  Passover  commemorated  a  great  de- 
liverance ;  and  we  have  already  seen  that  it  was  universally 
believed  that  the  golden  age  of  the  national  life,  which  was 
yet  to  come,  would  be  inaugurated  by  a  still  greater  deliver- 
ance. The  Passover  had  thus  become  more  than  a  festival 
of  religion,  it  was  a  national  and  patriotic  celebration.  It 
bore  another  aspect  too ;  it  was  an  imposing  demonstration 
of  the  national  unity.  A  common  pulse  of  thought  and  emo- 
tion beat  through  the  whole  land,  gathering  intensity  as  the 
sacred  day  drew  nearer.  For  a  month  before  the  feast  there 
stood  in  every  market-place  of  town  or  village  the  booth  of 
the  money-changer,  to  whom  the  poor  people  took  their 
mixed  coins,  that  they  might  exchange  them  into  the  stand- 
ard shekels,  which  alone  were  accepted  as  legitimate  money 
by  the  Temple  authorities.  Preparations  for  the  journey  it- 
self, more  or  less  elaborate  according  to  the  social  condition 
of  the  pilgrims,  had  to  be  made.  This  general  stir  of  life 
might  very  well  have  proved  distracting  to  the  congregations 
Christ  had  gathered  on  the  hillside  and  beside  the  lake. 
Their  thoughts  had  begun  to  wander  from  His  exquisite  dis- 
courses to  the  long  rehearsed  and  anticij^ated  episodes  of 
the  coming  journey :  the  meeting  with  kinsfolk  and  friends, 

Si 


THE  CLEANSING  OF  THE  TEMPLE     95 

the  exchange  of  news  and  greetings,  the  exclamations  of  de- 
light when  caravan  after  caravan  swept  down  from  different 
valleys,  and  joined  the  excited  crowd  upon  the  main  road, 
the  new-kindled  sense  of  the  force  of  nationality  which  was 
fostered  by  this  gathering  of  the  scattered  units  of  a  nation 
into  a  common  focus  of  sentiment  and  hope.  Jesus  perhaps 
recognized  the  impossibility  of  continuing  His  addresses  to 
these  ardent  Galileans  in  such  a  period  of  general  excite- 
ment. Moreover,  the  Passover  was  sacred  to  Him  as  to 
them,  though  for  other  and  more  spiritual  reasons.  He  ap- 
pears to  have  abruptly  concluded  His  public  ministry  in 
order  that  He  might  travel  with  these  comrades  of  His 
thought  to  the  Passover  celebration  at  Jerusalem. 

Many  memories  would  occupy  His  mind  as  He  traversed 
this  familiar  road.  Nearly  eighteen  years  before  He  had 
traveled  by  the  same  road,  a  wandering  Boy,  looking  for  the 
first  time  upon  the  larger  things  of  human  life.  His  mother 
was  with  Him  then ;  no  doubt  she  was  with  Him  now ;  but 
besides  her  there  was  this  joyous  company  of  Galilean 
friends  who  were  to  become  the  nucleus  of  His  Church.  He 
had  seen  the  mystic  opening  of  the  scroll  of  destiny.  He 
had  learned  at  Nazareth  that  His  work  was  not  to  be  achieved 
without  violent  hostility  and  opposition.  What  would  Jeru- 
salem say  to  Him  ?  Such  a  question  could  not  be  considered 
without  grave  and  serious  thought.  The  lessons  He  had 
learned  from  John,  and  subsequently  verified  for  Himself,  of 
the  incurable  corruption  of  the  priesthood  returned  to  Him 
now.  He  saw  at  the  roadside  many  sepulchres,  newly 
whitened,  in  order  to  protect  the  pilgrims  from  pollution; 
they  were  to  Him  sad  parables  of  the  priests  and  Pharisees 
themselves,  who  whitened  the  outside  life  by  ritual  ordi- 
nances, while  within  they  were  full  of  dead  men's  bones  and 
all  uncleanness.     And  He  saw  also  that  this  great  festival, 


96  THE   LIFE    OF   CHRIST 

so  full  of  sweet  and  solemn  associations,  was  turned  into  a 
gigantic  engine  of  oppression  by  the  rapacity  of  the  rulers. 
Ever  thoughtful  for  the  poor,  Christ  had  abundant  occasion 
on  this  pilgrimage  to  remark  how  they  suffered  by  the  sys- 
tem of  legalized  extortion  which  prevailed ;  and  thus,  amid 
the  general  rejoicing,  He  rode  sadly  meditative  of  the  means 
by  which  they  might  be  vindicated  and  delivered. 

We  may  pause  a  moment  to  examine  what  this  rapacity  of 
the  priesthood  really  meant  in  relation  to  the  Passover  cele- 
brations. In  the  first  place  the  Temple-tribute  of  a  Galilean 
shekel — about  one  shilling  and  twopence  of  our  money — was 
levied  on  all  Jews,  with  the  exception  of  minors,  slaves,  and 
proselytes.  The  law  was  strict ;  he  who  did  not  pay  the  tax 
was  liable  to  a  distraint  upon  his  goods.  The  only  excep- 
tion made  was  in  the  case  of  priests,  who  escaped  the  levy 
by  a  wholly  mean  and  contemptible  quibble  founded  upon  an 
obscure  passage  of  Leviticus. 

It  is  obvious  that  in  a  country  crowded  with  foreigners  the 
pure  standard  coin  demanded  by  the  Temple  authorities  was 
not  easily  obtained.  The  poor  Jew,  residing  in  some  small 
village,  rarely  handled  any  but  debased  coinage,  or  coinage 
which  the  priests  declared  debased.  Consequently  the 
money-changer  reaped  a  rich  harvest.  On  every  half-shekel 
rendered  he  levied  a  charge  of  about  twopence,  so  that  for 
the  pure  Galilean  shekel  the  pilgrim  paid  f  ourpence  as  a  rate 
of  exchange.  This  amounted  in  the  aggregate  to  between  10 
and  12  per  cent.  The  wealth  thus  accumulated  by  the 
money-lenders  was  large ;  the  wealth  of  the  priests  much 
larger.  Some  idea  of  this  wealth  may  be  formed  when  we 
recollect  that  the  annual  revenue  from  these  sources  is  com- 
puted at  £75,000,  and  that  the  Romans  took  from  the  Temple 
treasury,  in  the  final  spoliation  of  the  city,  no  less  than  two 
and  a  half  millions  sterling  of  money.     How  far  the  priests 


THE  CLEANSING  OF  THE  TEMPLE     97 

themselves  conducted  this  usurious  business  is  not  clear.  It 
is  certain,  however,  that  the  priestly  house  of  Annas  oj)enly 
conducted  bazaars,  and  used  the  Temple  itself  as  a  centre  of 
merchandise.  Yet  Palestine  was  then,  as  it  is  now,  a  poor 
country.  Any  one  who  has  seen  a  company  of  pilgrims  go- 
ing to  Mecca,  and  has  ascertained  anything  of  their  personal 
condition,  will  know  that  they  are  often  poor  to  a  degree 
beyond  penury,  and  that  their  pilgrimage  represents  the  hard 
self-denial  of  a  lifetime.  The  average  Jewish  Passover  pil- 
grim was  not  perhaps  so  poor  as  these,  but  in  the  majority 
of  instances  he  had  no  little  difficulty  in  meeting  the  ex- 
penses of  this  annual  journey  to  Jerusalem.  Yet  it  was  from 
exactions  levied  on  these  poor  people  that  the  priests  grew 
rich,  and  became  insolent  to  and  contemptuous  of  the  poor, 
in  the  degree  of  their  wealth. 

These  exactions  did  not  stop  at  money-levies.  The  Temple 
sj'stem  of  sacrifice  and  purification  imposed  further  demands 
upon  the  pious.  The  Sadducees,  who  were  mainly  priests, 
or  of  priestly  descent,  maintained  that  all  beasts  required  for 
sacrifice  should  be  obtained  directly  from  the  priest ;  the 
Pharisees,  in  this  controversy  for  once  upon  the  side  of  the 
people,  maintained  that  all  animals  for  sacrifice  or  offering 
should  be  bought  in  the  open  market,  at  the  current  market 
price.  This  controversy  grew  in  time  into  a  bitter  trade  dis- 
pute. Each  side  made  strenuous  attempts  to  "  corner  the 
market,"  as  we  should  put  it.  An  instance  is  preserved  of  a 
pair  of  pigeons  being  run  up  to  no  less  a  figure  than  fifteen 
shillings,  and  before  night  being  brought  down  to  fourpence. 
But  all  efforts  to  defeat  the  Sadducees  collapsed.  It  was  of 
the  first  importance  that  any  offering  brought  to  the  Temple 
should  be  free  from  blemish,  and  the  priest  and  his  assistant 
were  the  only  persons  qualified  to  decide  on  such  a  question. 
It  is  obvious  that  such  power  was  open  to  gross  abuse.  A 
7 


98  THE   LIFE    OF   CHRIST 

poor  countryman  was  very  likely  to  find  that  the  animal  lie 
had  bought  in  the  open  market  was  rejected  by  the  Temple 
inspector.  Rather  than  incur  this  peril  and  disgrace  he  went 
to  the  market  of  the  priests,  and  bought  a  certified  animal  at 
a  much  higher  than  the  market  rate.  Thus  it  came  to  pass 
that,  partly  for  convenience,  partly  as  a  valuable  impetus  to 
trade,  cattle  markets  came  to  be  held  in  the  outer  courts  of 
the  Temple  itself.  These  markets  appear  to  have  been  the 
property  of  the  High  Priests.  It  is  clear,  then,  that  a  system 
of  rapacity,  not  less  odious  and  unblushing  than  the  Roman 
sale  of  indulgences,  which  provoked  the  Reformation,  existed 
in  the  Jewish  Temple  itself,  and  the  main  effect  of  this  sys- 
tem was  not  only  the  desecration  of  the  Temple,  but  the  op- 
pression of  the  poor,  who  were  the  main  sufferers  and  the 
victims. 

In  these  long  caravans  moving  to  Jerusalem  there  must 
have  been  many  a  pilgrim  who  trembled  at  the  thought  of 
the  ordeal  he  had  to  face  at  the  hands  of  these  covetous  and 
degraded  tradesmen  of  the  Temple — for  such  the  greatest 
priesthood  in  history  had  virtually  become.  The  talk  among 
the  poorer  groups  of  pilgrims  turned  much  on  these  matters. 
They  discussed  with  anxious  voices  how  affairs  would  go 
with  them,  and  the  natural  joyousness  of  a  great  religious 
festival  was  overclouded  by  misgiving  and  foreboding.  Few 
things  are  more  pathetic  to  a  man  of  fine  feeling  than  the 
anxious  economies  of  the  poor ;  nothing  is  more  odious  than 
the  advantage  which  is  constantly  taken  of  the  inexperience 
of  the  poor  by  the  unscrupulous  avarice  of  trade.  These 
poor  Galileans  would  not  hesitate  to  confide  the  difficulties 
of  their  position  to  one  of  whose  sympathy  they  were  sure, 
and  from  whose  popularity  they  hoped  some  bold  and  effica- 
cious scheme  of  reform.  He  heard  them  with  a  grieved  and 
indignant  heart.     It  is  noticeable  that  throughout  His  ruin- 


THE  CLEANSING  OF  THE  TEMPLE     99 

is  try  nothing  so  quickly  excited  Him  to  anger  as  the  WTongs 
of  the  poor.  All  the  pity  and  gentleness  of  His  nature  is 
transfused  into  scathing  flame  when  He  defends  the  poor. 
No  wonder,  then,  that  His  heart  swelled  more  and  more  with 
indignation  as  He  drew  near  the  Holy  City,  until  at  last  in 
the  bitterness  of  His  thought  He  was  ready  to  describe  the 
most  sacred  of  all  shrines,  and  most  august  of  all  religious 
edifices  then  upon  the  earth,  as  nothing  better  than  a  den  of 
thieves. 

The  last  encampment  of  these  Galilean  pilgrims  on  the 
road  to  Jerusalem  would  be  in  the  neighborhood  of  Bethel. 
To  the  Jew  no  spot  was  more  sacred.  Here  Jacob  had 
dreamed  that  dream  which  had  implanted  in  his  mind  the 
germ  of  Jewish  nationality,  and  in  his  soul  the  diviner  germ 
of  a  truly  spiritual  religion.  On  this  starry  April  evening 
did  Jesus  also  stand  in  the  midnight  silence,  under  the  same 
unchanging  heavens,  awed  and  thrilled  with  the  sense  of  a 
God  not  afar  off,  but  "  closer  than  breathing,  and  nearer  than 
hands  and  feet !  "  A  few  days  later  we  shall  find  Him  pass- 
ing this  way  again,  to  meet  at  the  well  of  Sychar  a  casual 
listener  to  whom  He  gives  the  sublimest  definition  of  religion 
which  the  world  had  ever  heard  :  "  God  is  a  Spirit,  and  they 
that  worship  Him,  must  worship  Him  in  spirit  and  in  truth." 
It  may  have  been  that  on  this  very  night  of  solitary  reverie 
at  Bethel  this  great  axiom  first  formulated  itself  to  His  mind. 
Standing  rapt  and  silent,  His  hair  wet  with  the  dews  of 
night,  far  from  the  sleeping  camp,  He  experienced  one  of 
those  intense  hours  of  self-communion  out  of  which  new 
ideals,  truths,  and  resolves  are  born.  All  that  He  had  heard 
and  seen  of  the  operation  of  Jewish  religion  in  this  memora- 
ble journey  returned  upon  Him  now.  He  saw  not  merely  its 
degradation  but  its  emptiness.  He  saw  with  new  and  start- 
ling distinctness  that  He  had  no  more  a  part  or  lot  in  it. 


100  THE    LIFE    OF   CHRIST 

Any  attempt  to  impart  new  vitality  to  these  worn-out  forms 
of  truth  would  fail ;  it  would  be  pouring  new  wine  into  old 
wine-skins,  joining  new  cloth  to  old  raiment.  It  was  a  night 
of  the  parting  of  the  ways.  Through  the  infinite  night  si- 
lence His  soul  soared  into  a  loftier  dream  than  Jacob's. 
Bethel  had  once  more  become  the  very  house  of  God,  and 
the  gate  of  heaven ;  and  on  its  sacred  soil  that  resolve  was 
taken  which  led  Him  with  unerring  footsteps  to  the  Cross. 

Early  next  morning,  with  the  first  light,  the  caravan  started 
for  its  last  brief  and  easy  stage.  Very  soon  there  came  into 
view  the  magnificent  spectacle  of  Jerusalem — a  city  set  upon 
a  hill,  beautiful  for  situation,  the  joy  of  the  whole  earth. 
Dominating  all  that  great  array  of  pinnacles  and  palaces  rose 
the  Temple  itself,  one  mass  of  burnished  gold,  resplendo  it 
in  the  sun.  But  Jesus  saw  it  with  preoccupied  and  brooding 
eyes.  That  thrill  of  heart  which  every  Jew  felt  at  the  sight, 
which  He  Himself  had  known  in  earlier  days,  could  no  more 
be  recaptured.  He  felt  afar  off  the  menace  of  the  proud  and 
glorious  city,  and  saw  in  it  His  predestined  battlefield.  As 
He  and  His  band  of  Galileans  passed  through  the  crowded 
gates,  slowly  making  then  way  to  the  Temple  courts,  a  plan 
of  swift  and  definite  action  sprang  up  in  His  mind.  He  re- 
solved that  with  Him  the  trumpet  should  give  no  uncertain 
sound.  Men  should  know  the  meaning  of  His  mission ; 
they  should  understand  from  the  first  that  He  came  not  to 
temporize  with  the  old,  but  to  supersede  it ;  not  to  obey  con- 
ditions, but  to  create  them;  not  to  rehabilitate  the  past,  but 
to  make  all  things  new.  The  idealist,  thus  armed  with  cour- 
age, has  seldom  to  look  long  for  his  opportunity.  Christ's 
opportunity  met  Him  in  the  first  court  of  the  Temple  which 
He  entered — the  outer  court  where  the  bazaars  of  Annas 
stood  and  the  money-changers  pushed  then  trade.  The  din, 
the   confusion,  the  indignity  of  the  scene  can  easily  be  pic- 


THE  CLEANSING  OF  THE  TEMPLE    101 

hired  by  any  one  who  lias  once  looked  upon  an  Oriental 
market.  The  presence  of  great  herds  of  sheep  and  oxen  in 
these  sacred  courts  gave  them  the  appearance  of  a  shambles. 
Poor  women  chaffered  anxiously  at  the  stalls  where  doves 
were  sold  in  wicker  cages,  and  came  away  elated  or  depressed 
by  the  nature  of  the  bargains  they  had  made.  Shrill  voices 
were  raised  in  dispute,  and  violent  altercations,  threatenings, 
and  even  blows  were  exchanged.  It  was  pandemonium — 
and  it  was  pandemonium  in  the  Temple.  It  was  a  scene 
which  no  man  of  reverent  mind  could  describe  as  other  than 
indecent  and  even  infamous ;  yet  so  entirely  were  the  priests 
of  a  great  and  ancient  religion  absorbed  in  the  thought  of 
the  tide  of  gold  which  poured  from  this  bazaar  into  the 
Temple  coffers  that  they  did  not  so  much  as  regard  it  as  in- 
congruous. 

For  some  moments  Jesus  stood  and  looked  upon  the  scene 
in  perfect  silence.  From  the  open  court  of  the  Temple  a 
wide  view  of  the  city  itself  lay  at  His  feet ;  and 

He  looked  upon  the  city  every  side 

Far  and  wide ; 
On  the  bridges,  causeways,  aqueducts,  and  then  — 

On  the  men  ! 

Anger  was  a  rare  passion  with  Jesus.  His  ministry  was  pre- 
eminently a  ministry  of  peace ;  but  the  ministry  that  has  no 
flame  in  it  is  also  destitute  of  vital  heat.  For  Himself — that 
is,  for  slights  or  contempt  offered  to  Him,  or  for  neglect  of 
kindness  toward  Him  which  the  barest  hospitality  demanded 
— He  was  never  angry.  He  once  commented  in  the  house 
of  a  rich  Pharisee  on  such  a  want  of  hospitable  courtesy ;  no 
water  had  been  provided  that  He  might  wash  His  feet  after 
a  toilsome  journey ;  but  it  was  more  in  grief,  or  in  a  kind  of 
sad  and  gentle  irony,  than  in  anger.     Anger  with  Christ  was 


102  THE    LIFE    OF   CHRIST 

always  a  moral  passion.  The  things  that  made  Him  angry 
were  irreverence,  hypocrisy,  cruelty,  meanness,  and  unkind- 
ness.  And  as  He  looked  on  this  scene,  profane  in  its  irrev- 
erence for  .sacred  things,  hypocritical  in  use  of  religion  as 
the  mask  of  avarice,  unkind  and  cruel  in  its  organized  rob- 
bery of  the  poor,  anger  swelled  His  veins — an  auger  all  the 
more  awful  and  intense  by  its  very  rarity.  Hastily  gather- 
ing together  certain  small  cords  that  lay  upon  the  Temple 
floor,  He  wove  them  with  practiced  hands  into  a  whip  or 
scourge  such  as  cattle-drivers  use.  In  a  moment,  before  His 
intention  was  perceived,  He  had  fallen  on  the  throng  of 
money-changers  and  cattle-merchants,  driving  them  before 
Him  like  chaff  before  the  wind.  In  the  tumult  the  tables  of 
the  money-changers  were  overturned,  and  the  bellowing  cat- 
tle ran  madly  down  the  steep  street  leading  to  the  Xystus 
gate.  None  dared  to  oppose  Him.  Insignificant  and  almost 
absurd  as  this  whip  of  small  cords  was  for  such  a  wholesale, 
task  of  purgation,  in  His  hands  it  had  become  such  a  sword 
of  flame  as  burned  behind  the  backs  of  the  first  great  fugi- 
tives from  Eden.  It  was  as  though  Morality  itself  had  leaped 
full-armed  and  terrible  upon  these  miserable  hucksters  and 
traffickers  who  had  long  ago  forgotten  its  very  name.  The 
timid,  awe-struck  Galileans  looked  on  incredulous  of  what 
they  saw.  The  officials  of  the  Temple,  perhaps  Annas  him- 
self, hastily  summoned,  were  still  more  incredulous.  The 
auger  of  the  Galilean,  like  a  conflagration,  had  passed  in  an 
instant  over  a  host  of  privileges,  carefully  nurtured  through 
many  years  of  the  astutest  priest-craft,  and  they  were  con- 
sumed. The  Temple  was  empty,  and  the  whole  city,  moved 
to  look  upon  this  new  prophet,  rang  with  the  name  of  Jesus. 
The  extraordinary  feature  of  this  incident  is  that,  full  of 
fury  as  the  priests  must  have  been,  yet  no  reprisals  were  at- 
tempted.    But  for  this   inactivity  on  their  part  there  were 


THE  CLEANSING  OF  THE  TEMPLE    103 

cogent  reasons.  One  was  the  already  great  popularity  of 
Christ — for  it  is  obvious  that  a  quite  unknown  person,  with- 
out followers  or  reputation,  would  never  have  been  permitted 
to  perpetrate  such  an  outrage  on  custom.  Another  reason  is 
that  His  act  was  popular.  The  only  point  of  view  from  which 
most  men  would  regard  it  would  be  that  it  was  an  energetic 
vindication  of  the  popular  contention  that  the  trade  interests 
which  the  priests  had  set  up  and  consolidated  were  both  in 
essence  and  practice  unjust  Besides  this  there  is  always  a 
lurking  sense  of  satisfaction  in  a  populace  at  insults  offered 
to  an  oligarchy  or  aristocracy  that  has  forfeited  respect.  The 
priests  were  not  wholly  unaware  of  how  they  stood  with  the 
people.  They  knew  that  in  spite  of  the  immense  hold  which 
the  Temple  religion-  had  upon  the  people  yet  there  was  no- 
where collected  under  heaven  a  population  so  stubborn,  re- 
bellious, and  liable  to  frantic  excess  when  once  their  passions 
were  aroused.  In  some  respects  these  ancient  Jews  much 
resembled  the  Florentines  of  the  Renaissance,  who  at  one 
moment  appear  as  utterly  supine  under  tyranny  and  the  next 
as  the  most  turbulent  population  of  Italy — a  people  capable 
of  being  imposed  upon  by  any  sort  of  priestly  jugglery,  but 
equally  capable  of  hanging  an  archbishop  when  once  their 
resentment  mastered  them.  If  the  priests  hesitat3cl  to  arrest 
Jesus,  it  was  for  a  reason  that  often  appears  in  the  subse- 
quent history :  it  was  that  they  feared  a  tumult  among  the 
people.  One  significant  incident,  however,  reveals  the  true 
temper  of  men  like  Annas  and  his  son-in-law  Caiaphas,  and 
the  priestly  conclave  in  general.  They  took  careful  note  of 
all  the  words  that  Jesus  littered  to  the  people  during  this 
brief  visit  to  Jerusalem.  Spies  followed  the  Galilean  every- 
where, and  their  reports  were  whispered  from  one  to  another 
in  the  secret  sittings  of  the  Sanhedrim  Long  afterwards, 
when  the  hour  of  vengeance  came,  it  was  upon  a  word  uttered 


104  THE    LIFE    OF   CHRIST 

in  this  first  visit  to  Jerusalem  that  the  priests  based  their 
condemnation  of  Him.  That  word  which  He  spoke  about 
the  Temple — "  Destroy  this  Temple,  and  in  three  days  I  will 
raise  it  up  again  "—the  immediate  meaning  of  which  was 
that  even  were  the  Temple  destroyed  yet  the  power  of  spirit- 
ual worship  would  remain — was  a  word  carefully  treasured 
in  minds  equally  malevolent  and  acute,  and  later  on  it  was 
produced  against  Jesus  with  deadly  effect.  Thus  it  was  in 
the  Temple,  where  His  first  daring  act  of  reform  was  done, 
that  the  first  shadow  of  the  Cross  fell  upon  Him :  and  this 
scene  casts  a  strong  illumination  on  the  drama  of  His  death. 
When  the  spirit  of  the  market-place  has  entered  the  house 
of  God  there  is  no  measuring  the  nature  of  the  disasters 
which  may  ensue.  They  may  even  include  utter  hostility  to 
truth,  the  persecution  of  the  good,  and  in  the  end  the  murder 
of  the  just.  Events  proved  that  Jesus  was  crucified,  not  be- 
cause He  declared  truth,  but  because  He  attacked  privilege 
— a  crime  for  which  the  corrupt  know  no  pardon. 


CHAPTEE  Vm 

JESUS    AND   THE    INDIVIDUAL 

Nothing  is  more  remarkable  in  the  career  of  Jesus  than 
the  attention,  sympathy,  and  patience  which  He  devoted  to 
individual  inquirers  after  truth.  Public  men  who  have  at- 
tained great  eminence  are  usually  inclined  to  regard  their 
work  in  its  collective  aspect  only.  They  reserve  themselves 
for  great  and  formal  utterances,  and  find  it  convenient  to 
leave  the  troublesome  work  of  personal  interviews  to  subor- 
dinates. A  great  teacher  is  soon  surrounded  by  a  zealous 
cordon  of  attached  friends,  who  have  an  honest  and  quite 
laudable  desire  to  spare  the  master  the  intrusion  of  those 
whose  curiosity  and  enthusiasm  is  their  only  passport  to  his 
presence.  We  repeatedly  find  the  disciples  acting  in  this 
capacity,  and  Christ  as  frequently  rebuking  their  friendly 
zeal.  It  was,  however,  part  of  Christ's  programme  to  en- 
courage friendly  personal  relations  with  all  kinds  of  men.  A 
casual  glance  at  the  Gospels  is  sufficient  to  convince  us  that 
Christ  made  constant  use  of  this  Socratic  method  of  instruc- 
tion, for  three-fourths  of  the  wise  and  exquisite  sayings  which 
are  reported  to  us  by  the  Evangelists  were  uttered  to  indi- 
viduals or  to  little  groups  of  men  and  women  in  familiar  con- 
versation. 

This  first  Passover  visit  of  Christ  to  Jerusalem  as  the 
newly  acclaimed  Messiah  is  distinguished  by  a  very  remarka- 
ble interview  with  a  leading  member  of  the  Pharisaic  sect, 
and  His  journey  back  to  Capernaum  by  an  equally  extraor- 
dinary interview  with  a  woman  of  Samaria.     In  each  case  we 

105 


106  THE    LIFE    OF   CHRIST 

find  Christ  disclosing  all  tlie  treasures  of  His  niind  to  indi- 
viduals ;  for  it  may  be  claimed  that  in  no  formal  address 
which  He  ever  uttered  did  He  touch  upon  deeper  themes  than 
in  His  conversations  with  these  two  persons. 

Nicodenms  appears  to  have  been  a  man  distinguished  by 
much  sincerity  of  mind,  combined  with  conspicuous  timidity 
of  temper.  He  was  a  man  of  culture,  and  he  had  learned 
the  intellectual  caution  and  reserve  of  culture.  No  one  needs 
to  be  assured  that  culture  invariably  breeds  the  spirit  of  in- 
tellectual reserve.  With  the  savage  every  emotion  of  hope 
or  fear  finds  instant,  spontaneous,  and  complete  expression. 
He  is  but  a  larger  child,  easily  touched,  easily  offended,  and 
the  workings  of  his  mind  are  as  readily  discerned  as  the 
workings  of  a  clock,  whose  wheels  and  pulleys  are  only 
separated  from  us  by  a  lucid  barrier  of  crystal.  But  with 
the  growth  of  culture  human  nature  becomes  less  accessible, 
and  greatly  more  diffident.  Books  teach  the  incertitudes  of 
knowledge,  and  observation  the  deceitfulness  of  appearances. 
The  man  of  culture  hesitates  to  be  too  dogmatic  in  his  opin- 
ions lest  he  should  err,  and  too  frank  in  the  expression  of 
his  feelings  lest  he  should  be  misconceived.  The  emotions 
are  still  potent,  and  are  perhaps  deepened  in  force,  but  they 
are  not  so  readily  touched.  In  such  generalizations  as  these 
the  character  of  Nicodemus  may  be  discerned.  As  a  Phari- 
see he  had  every  reason  to  approve  the  daring  exploit  of 
Christ  in  cleansing  the  Temple.  A  great  reform,  which 
many  had  desired,  the  Nazarene  had  achieved ;  what  a 
thousand  had  thought  one  man  had  done  by  the  force  of  a 
superior  will.  But  the  larger  question  yet  remained —  "Who 
was  this  Jesus  of  Nazareth  ?  "What  was  the  real  nature  of 
His  claims  ?  Was  He  a  turbulent  revolutionist,  momentarily 
successful  in  vindicating  popular  rights,  or  Avas  He  the  very 
Christ? 


JESUS  AND  THE  INDIVIDUAL       107 

Full  of  these  questions  Nicodemus  sought  an  interview  with 
Jesus.  We  may  gather  something  of  the  general  dubiety  of 
mind  and  the  incipient  hostility  of  spirit  which  prevailed 
among  the  Pharisees  in  respect  to  Christ,  from  the  circum- 
stance that  Nicodemus  adopted  secret  methods  for  his  inter- 
view. He  came  to  Jesus  by  night.  A  teacher  less  tolerant 
than  Jesus  might  have  resented  the  method  of  approach  as 
in  itself  an  insult.  Jesus,  however,  receives  him  with  a  per- 
fect courtesy.  Nicodemus  opens  the  conversation  with  some 
general  complimentary  remarks  upon  the  obvious  proofs  that 
Christ  has  given  of  authority  and  power.  Jesus  quietly 
ignores  these  compliments,  and  replies  with  the  startling 
saying  that  Nicodemus  needs  to  be  born  again.  What  Nico- 
demus had  expected  in  this  interview  was  a  prolonged  dis- 
cussion on  Messiahship.  He  had  come  armed  with  much 
Rabbinical  lore,  with  text  and  instance,  and  he  proposed  to 
take  Christ  along  this  well-trodden  path,  testing  Him  at 
every  point,  and  ascertaining  how  He  was  prepared  to  solve 
the  difficulties  which  His  Messianic  claims  involved.  Jesus 
turns  the  tables,  by  making  the  interview  not  a  testing  of 
Himself  but  of  Nicodemus.  Nicodemus  must  be  born  again  ; 
that  is  to  say,  he  must  recover  the  simplicity  of  a  child's 
mind  and  nature,  he  must  discard  the  barren  artificialities 
with  which  a  narrow  culture  has  overlaid  a  mind  naturally 
sincere,  he  must  look  upon  spiritual  phenomena  with  a  fresh 
eye,  and  a  temper  of  transparent  candor.  Repentance,  which 
was  a  word  ever  on  the  lips  of  Christ,  really  means  nothing- 
more  than  a  change  of  mind,  producing  a  change  of  direction 
in  the  purposes  of  life,  and  a  corresponding  change  of  con- 
duct. It  is  this  gospel  of  repentance  that  Christ  preaches 
to  the  proud  ruler  in  this  solemn  midnight  interview. 

The  interview  was  intensely  typical  of  Christ's  method  of 
dealing  with   individuals.     He  rarely  argued,  nor  did   He 


108  THE    LIFE    OF   CHRIST 

encourage  argument  in  others,  well  knowing  that  while  argu- 
ment often  leads  to  embittered  dispute  it  rarely  ends  in  con- 
viction. He  relied  rather  upon  simple  and  positive  state- 
ment, made  with  great  directness.  He  gave  credit  to  human 
nature  for  an  instant  response  to  truth,  when  once  truth  was 
clearly  perceived.  The  form  in  which  He  put  truth  before 
Nicodemus  is  so  essentially  colored  with  the  peculiarities  of 
John's  phraseology,  that  we  may  regard  the  expression  "  Ye 
must  be  born  again"  rather  as  John's  summary  of  a  long 
conversation  than  a  precise  report  of  it.  But  it  is  an  admir- 
able summary.  New  birth  is  not  so  strange  a  phrase  as  it 
first  appears,  when  we  recollect  that  new  knowledge  com- 
municated to  the  mind  is  in  effect  the  new  birth  of  thought, 
and  that  a  great  and  pure  love  communicated  to  the  heart  is 
equally  a  new  birth  of  the  emotions.  Men  are  constantly 
re-born  by  the  inrush  of  new  truths,  hopes,  and  enthusiasms 
into  their  life.  Nicodemus  is  inclined  to  regard  the  doctrine 
as  irrational ;  in  reality  it  is  the  highest  reason.  This  Christ 
endeavors  to  show  by  linking  it  with  one  of  the  best  known 
operations  of  the  physical  world.  No  man  can  tell  how  the 
spring  regenerates  the  earth,  and  yet  it  is  regenerated.  Th> 
wind  bloweth  where  it  listeth,  by  its  viewless  force  quicken- 
ing all  things  into  sudden  growth.  We  wake  upon  a  spring 
morning  to  find  a  new  world  at  our  feet,  and  so  rapid  and 
entire  is  the  change,  especially  in  Eastern  climates,  that  it 
breaks  on  us  like  a  great  surprise.  If  we  were  to  describe 
the  most  lovely  sensation  which  the  spring  produces  on  our 
minds,  we  should  perhaps  say  that  it  is  as  though  the  world 
had  grown  young  again.  Winter,  which  fills  us  with  a  sense 
of  the  pale  decrepitude  and  age  of  the  world  has  suddenly 
vanished,  and  all  things  are  rejuvenated.  This  is  no  doubt 
the  language  of  a  poet,  but  Jesus  always  spoke  in  this  lan- 
guage.    Robbed  of  its  perfume  and  music,  and  reduced  to 


JESUS  AND  THE  INDIVIDUAL       109 

plainest  prose,  what  Christ  says  to  Nicoclemus  is  that  the 
heart  needs  renewing  by  the  breath  of  God,  as  the  earth  is 
renewed  by  the  benignant  magic  of  the  spring.  He  who  is 
thus  renewed  becomes  again  as  a  little  child,  who  lives  by 
intuitions  and  impressions  rather  than  by  deliberate  acts  of 
reason.  To  such  a  creature  a  miracle  is  no  longer  unintelli- 
gible or  repellent,  because  all  life  is  interpenetrated  with  the 
sense  of  the  miraculous. 

In  that  long  midnight  interview,  if  Jesus  did  not  make  an 
instant  convert,  He  made  a  real  one.  A  new  bias  had  been 
imparted  to  the  life  of  Nicodemus,  and  his  after-life  showed 
its  far-reaching  effects.  In  this  interview  he  appears  as  the 
man  of  reason,  honestly  eager  to  arrive  at  a  knowledge  of  the 
truth.  A  subsequent  scene  reveals  him  as  the  man  of  justice. 
Many  months  later  the  time  came  when  the  incipient  hostil- 
ity of  the  rulers  to  Christ  became  open  and  malignant.  Ir- 
ritated beyond  bounds  by  the  popularity  of  the  Nazarene, 
they  made  a  determined  effort  to  arrest  Him,  only  to  find  to 
their  chagrin  that  the  very  officers  of  justice  were  carried 
away  by  the  popular  enthusiasm,  and  not  only  failed  to  ar- 
rest Jesus  but  accounted  for  their  failure  by  the  extraordi- 
nary admission  that,  "  Never  man  spake  as  this  man."  From 
one  end  of  Jerusalem  to  another  there  rang  the  thrilling  ciy, 
"  This  is  the  Prophet,  this  is  the  Christ !  "  The  Sanhedrin, 
summoned  hastily,  is  driven  frantic  by  reports  of  things  done 
and  said  in  the  Temple  which  transcend  all  limits  of  forbear- 
ance. Then  once  more  Nicodemus  comes  to  the  front.  He 
is  all  for  tolerance,  cool  deliberation,  unbiased  justice. 
"  Doth  our  law  judge  any  man  before  it  hear  him,  and  knows 
what  he  has  done  ?  "  he  exclaims.  It  was  an  eminently  just 
and  reasonable  inquiry.  He  sweeps  aside  as  trivial  and  ab- 
surd the  question  whether  or  not  any  prophet  ought  to  come 
out  of  Galilee.     He  is  indifferent  to  the  taunt,  "Art  thou 


110  THE    LIFE    OF   CHRIST 

also  of  Galilee  ?  "  He  presses  the  more  sensible  and  prac- 
tical inquiry  whether  tins  man  is  not  a  true  prophet  in  spite 
of  His  Galilean  origin.  He  endeavors  to  modify  the  force  of 
passion,  to  inculcate  sobriety  of  judgment,  to  impress  the 
need  for  scrupulous  .fairness.  And  in  yet  one  later  scene 
Nicodemus  appears  as  the  man  of  feeling.  In  the  final 
drama  of  Christ's  life  he  stands  pre-eminent  among  the  rulers 
as  an  open  friend  and  sympathizer.  The  spectacle  at  Cal- 
vary, which  could  wring  from  a  soldier  hardened  to  such 
scenes  of  suffering,  the  cry,  "  This  is  the  Son  of  God,"  was 
the  last  crystallizing  touch  which  transformed  Nicodemus 
from  a  cautious  observer  and  timid  friend  into  an  ardent  dis- 
ciple. In  that  dread  hour,  when  he  thought  of  all  the  past 
— his  wavering  trust,  his  slow  emotions,  his  halting  appre- 
ciation of  Christ — his  heart  was  filled  with  a  divine  tide  of 
love  and  sacred  penitence.  He  could  do  little  then  to  mani- 
fest his  love  for  Christ,  but  he  did  the  one  thing  he  could  : 
he  begged  the  body  of  Christ  for  burial,  that  he  might  spare 
it  the  indignity  of  a  felon's  grave.  Such  was  Christ's  first 
convert  in  Jerusalem.  If  we  lose  something  of  historic  se- 
quence by  thus  bringing  together  in  one  brief  monograph  all 
that  is  known  of  Nicodemus,  Ave  also  gain  much  in  the  un- 
derstanding of  his  character,  and  in  the  yet  more  important 
understanding  of  the  influence  Christ  had  upon  that  charac- 
ter. Although  nothing  revealed  it  at  the  time,  Christ  had 
every  reason  to  be  proud  of  the  first  convert  granted  to  Him 
in  Jerusalem.  Events  showed  that  that  midnight  interview 
was  not  wasted ;  Nicodemus  knew  what  it  meant  to  be  born 
again. 

It  is  probable  that  Jesus  made  other  friends  during  this 
brief  visit  to  Jerusalem.  He  may  already  have  found  His 
way  to  the  house  at  Bethany,  where  so  many  of  His  happi- 
est hours.were  spent ;  the  intimacy  and  tenderness  of  His  re- 


JESUS  AND  THE  INDIVIDUAL       111 

lations  with  Mary  and  Martlia  suggest  that  these  faithful 
women  were  probably  among  His  earliest  admirers.  Nor 
would  it  be  an  altogether  unreasonable  flight  of  imagination 
to  suppose  that  it  was  under  the  roof  at  Bethany  that  the  in- 
terview with  Nicodemus  took  place.  The  household  of  Laz- 
arus was  well  known  in  Jerusalem,  and  had  friends  and  pos- 
sibly family  connections  among  the  Pharisees.  Thus  we  find 
that  later  on,  when  Lazarus  lay  dead,  many  Jews  came  from 
the  city  to  condole  with  his  sisters,  and  returned  instantly  to 
the  Pharisees  to  report  the  great  miracle  which  Jesus  had 
wrought.  The  conjecture  gives  a  vivid  touch  of  local  color 
to  the  picture.  On  a  night  wonderful  with  moonlight  we 
may  imagine  Nicodemus  passing  out  of  the  Holy  City  by  that 
very  road  along  which  Jesus  journeyed  in  humble  triumph 
in  the  last  week  of  His  life  ;  skirting  the  base  of  that  Mount 
of  Olives  made  for  ever  sacred  by  His  Passion ;  and  so  com- 
ing to  the  quiet  village  whose  very  name  is  perfumed  with 
holy  memories  to  countless  multitudes  of  Christians.  Was 
it  the  hand  of  Mary  that  unlatched  the  door  for  Nicodemus 
that  night  ?  Was  it  she  who  had  arranged  the  interview '? 
And  was  it  she  also  who  reported  it  in  days  far  remote,  when 
John  sought  eagerly  for  any  reminiscence  that  should  do 
honor  to  his  Master?  This  woman,  of  still  and  meditative 
mind,  who  loved  to  sit  at  Jesus'  feet,  oblivious  of  everything 
but  the  charm  of  His  conversation,  was  born  to  be  His  chron- 
icler. Martha,  cumbered  with  much  serving,  had  little  to 
communicate  concerning  the  ways  and  words  of  Jesus ;  but 
Mary  forgot  nothing.  And  if,  indeed,  this  interview  took 
place  in  the  house  at  Bethany,  we  may  be  sure  that  few  things 
in  her  faithful  and  adoring  intimacy  with  Christ  would  leave 
so  clear  an  impression  on  Mary's  mind  as  this  prolonged 
conversation  in  which  Christ  first  revealed  the  real  scope  and 
spirit  of  His  message  to  the  world. 


112  THE    LIFE    OF    CHRIST 

That  message  was,  however,  to  receive  a  yet  more  definite 
enunciation  toward  the  close  of  the  month,  and  again  in  a 
personal  interview.  Turning  his  face  northward,  Jesus  now 
set  out  in  company  with  many  returning  pilgrims,  for  Cana 
and  Capernaum.  The  first  day's  journey  would  take  Him  to 
Eamallah,  the  second  to  Bethel,  when  He  and  His  disciples 
detached  themselves  from  the  main  caravan.  From  Bethel 
the  northward  road  becomes  arduous,  difficult,  and  even  dan- 
gerous. After  an  excessively  steep  ascent  the  road  follows  a 
torrent,  which  flows  between  steep  and  bare  hillsides,  scan- 
tily clothed  with  olive-trees.  This  valley  or  gorge  is  the  gate 
of  one  of  the  most  fertile  districts  in  Palestine,  the  land  of 
Ephraim.  By  this  road  Jesus  traveled,  until  at  last  He  saw 
the  great  plain  of  Shechem,  bounded  by  the  upland  country 
of  Samaria,  the  distant  foldings  of  the  Galilean  hills,  and 
finally  by  the  snow-clad  heights  of  Hermon. 

Jacob's  well  is  one  of  the  few  undisputed  holy  sites  of 
Palestine.  It  stands  at  the  roadside,  not  far  from  the  little 
village  of  Iskar,  which  is  the  ancient  Sychar.  To  this  well 
Jesus  came,  wearied  with  the  heat  of  the  day  and  the  toil- 
some journey.  His  disciples  went  away  to  buy  food,  and  He 
sat  upon  the  coping-stone  of  the  well  awaiting  their  return. 
The  rest  of  the  story  is  told  us  with  admirable  simplicity  by 
St.  John.  A  woman  comes  to  draw  water,  and  Christ  en- 
gages her  in  conversation.  The  act,  natural  and  courteous 
as  it  was,  impressed  the  woman  as  startlingly  unconven- 
tional, for  she  perceived  Him  to  be  a  Jew,  and  it  was  a  tradi- 
tion that  the  Jew  had  no  dealings  with  the  Samaritan.  But 
as  the  conversation  proceeded  surprise  became  wTonder,  won- 
der melted  into  fear.  The  woman  appears  to  have  been 
grossly  ignorant.  She  entirely  misses  the  point  of  Christ's 
remarks  about  living  water.  "With  the  literalism  of  a  dull 
mind  she  proceeds  to  argue  about  the  superiority  of  this 


JESUS  AND  THE  INDIVIDUAL       113 

particular  water,  and  reluctantly  admits  that  if  the  water  of 
which  this  stranger  speaks  be  indeed  all  that  He  says  it  is, 
it  is  worth  coveting.  So  far  the  conversation  has  been  one 
of  cross  purposes.  Its  character  is  now  utterly  changed  by 
a  single  abrupt  word  on  the  part  of  Christ.  He  tells  her  to 
fetch  her  husband,  and  when  she  replies  that  she  has  no 
husband,  proceeds  to  show  Himself  acquainted  with  her 
family  history.  The  singular  thing  is  that,  disgraceful  as 
this  history  is,  yet  she  is  absolutely  unconscious  of  the  dis- 
grace. Uneasy  rather  than  humiliated,  she  tries  to  change 
the  subject  by  arguing  about  the  relative  merits  of  Jewish 
and  Samaritan  worship.  And  then  to  this  woman,  dull  of 
mind  and  immoral  in  life,  unable  on  every  ground  to  appre- 
ciate Him,  Jesus  utters  a  saying  so  profound  that  it  may  be 
said  to  have  inaugurated  a  new  religion  for  the  world : 
"  God  is  a  Spirit,  and  they  that  worship  Him,  must  worship 
Him  in  spirit  and  in  truth." 

How  far  the  woman  comprehended  the  sublime  truth  of 
this  aphorism  it  is  difficult  to  say.  The  disciples  may  be 
excused  for  considering  this  an  instance  of  casting  pearls  be- 
fore swine.  But  Jesus  had  no  such  feeling,  and  that  is  per- 
haps the  most  remarkable  feature  of  the  interview.  Not  only 
does  He  rise  entirely  above  the  pettiness  of  the  Jewish  feel- 
ing which  had  bred  an  age-long  scorn  of  the  Samaritan,  but 
He  even  seems  to  rise  above  the  faults  and  limitations  of  the 
woman,  seeing  her  ideally  as  a  human  creature  only.  Per- 
haps He  meant  the  whole  scene  to  be  an  object-lesson  to  His 
disciples  of  His  infinite  catholicity  of  spirit.  They  could 
hardly  have  seen  their  Master  spending  so  much  pains  over  a 
very  poor  specimen  of  the  human  race,  without  some  glimmer- 
ing perception  of  the  real  dignity  of  the  humblest  unit  of  the 
race.  It  was  the  first  of  many  shocks  which  their  Jewish 
pride  and  Messianic  hopes  received  at  the  hands  of  Jesus. 

8 


114  THE    LIFE    OF   CHRIST 

It  took  them  many  years  to  learn  the  simple  truth  that  noth- 
ing that  God  has  made  is  common  or  unclean.  Yet  that 
truth  received  magnificent  exposition  in  the  very  attitude  of 
Christ  to  this  woman :  and  joined  with  it  was  the  clearest 
possible  exposition  of  a  new  religion,  absolutely  free  from  all 
forms,  rising  above  them,  and  finding  them  unnecessary. 
That  day  beside  the  well  of  Sychar  Jesus  drafted  the  work- 
ing plan  of  Christianity.  Its  main  principles  were  two :  the 
conception  of  humanity  as  one ;  the  definition  of  religion  as 
spiritual.  Upon  these  two  pillars  the  whole  amazing  struc- 
ture of  the  new  religion  was  to  rest. 

It  will  be  observed  that  these  two  utterances  of  Christ, 
connected  in  point  of  time,  display  also  a  common  sequence 
of  thought.  The  message  to  Nicodemus,  and  the  message  to 
the  woman  of  Sychar,  are  substantially  one.  Christ  bids 
this  virtuous  Pharisee  and  this  dissolute  woman  meditate 
upon  the  same  truth — the  forgotten  spirituality  of  their  own 
natures.  Nicodemus  had  forgotten  this  in  the  arid  casuis- 
tries of  Pharisaism,  the  woman  in  the  coarse  animalism  of 
her  life.  But  until  man  remembers  that  he  is  a  spiritual 
creature,  religion  is  impossible  to  him.  He  may  be  moral 
or  immoral,  decorous  or  depraved,  but  religious  he  cannot 
be,  simply  because  religion  is  a  perception  of  the  spiritual 
side  of  things.  It  is  "the  romance  of  the  infinite,"  not, 
however,  as  it  exists  in  the  mysteries  of  space,  but  in  the 
human  heart  itself.  Neither  of  these  persons  had  realized 
this  capacity  for  the  infinite,  this  "  eternity  in  the  heart,"  as 
the  Hebrew  poet  finely  called  it ;  and  although  Nicodemus 
would  have  scorned  to  speak  to  this  woman,  and  would  have 
been  deeply  affronted  at  the  thought  of  being  included  for  a 
moment  in  the  same  category  with  her,  yet  they  are  alike  in 
this,  that  each  is  thoroughly  unawakened  to  the  spiritualities 
of  life.     He,  eager  to  discuss  abstruse  questions  of  Messiah- 


JESUS  AND  THE  INDIVIDUAL      115 

ship,  and  she,  equally  eager  to  discuss  the  relative  values  of 
Jewish  and  Samaritan  worship,  are  really  speaking  the  same 
language.  And  so  for  each  there  is  but  one  message,  as 
there  still  is  but  one  message  for  man,  whatever  may  be 
the  decorum  or  indignity  of  his  life ;  he  must  be  born 
again  into  a  belief  in  his  own  spiritual  nature,  and  know 
himself  as  a  living  soul  come  out  from  God,  and  returning 
to  God,  before  the  bare  conception  of  religion  is  possible  to 
him. 

But  perhaps  the  most  astonishing  reflection  is  that  Christ 
should  have  entrusted  profound  truths  such  as  these  to  the 
chances  of  casual  conversation.  Surely  teachings  that  are 
among  His  very  greatest  utterances  deserved  a  wider  audi- 
ence than  this  ;  for  who  can  reflect  without  a  shudder  upon 
how  much  of  Christian  truth  would  have  been  irrevocably 
lost  if  these  two  great  statements  had  by  any  chance  been 
forgotten?  At  first  sight  it  does  undoubtedly  appear  that 
the  chance  of  such  sayings  being  lost  was  very  great,  and 
that  the  probability  of  their  faithful  recollection  would  have 
been  much  increased  had  they  been  uttered  in  some  public 
address.  But  we  may  ask  if  this  is  really  so  ?  Are  sermons 
and  public  addresses  so  accurately  recollected  as  a  rule  that 
it  can  be  claimed  that  they  afford  the  securest  guarantee  for 
the  preservation  of  truth  ?  Who  remembers,  after  many 
years,  a  single  sentence  in  a  sermon,  flashed  upon  the  mind 
in  the  rush  of  oratory,  except  as  a  vague  and  generally  inac- 
curate impression  ?  But  a  deep  and  true  thing  said  in  inti- 
mate conversation  is  far  better  recollected.  The  impression 
made  is  much  deeper,  because  it  is  accompanied  by  a  force 
of  personality,  a  flame  and  efflux  of  the  spirit,  more  intense 
and  intimate  than  is  ever  possible  in  oratory.  And  so  when 
Christ  uttered  His  wisest  and  profoundest  sayings  to  individ- 
uals or  to  little  groups  of  people,  He  was,  perhaps,  taking  the 


116  THE    LIFE    OF   CHRIST 

best  possible  means  for  their  preservation.  They  sank  into 
hearts  too  deeply  moved  ever  to  forget  them.  New  emotions, 
new  ideas,  and  a  new  life  were  dated  from  them.  They  were 
associated  with  a  thrill  of  wonder  and  of  joy  that  vibrated  to 
the  last  hour  of  life.  It  is  the  crowd  that  forgets,  the  indi- 
vidual who  remembers  ;  and  there  is  a  far  securer  safeguard 
of  remembrance  in  the  emotion  of  the  individual  than  in  the 
general  impressions  of  a  multitude. 

Only  less  astonishing  is  the  graciousness  of  Christ  in 
these  interviews.  To  a  man  who  treats  Him  almost  as  a 
conspirator,  in  seeking  Him  by  stealth,  to  a  woman  who  is 
notoriously  corrupt,  Christ  gives  ungrudgingly  the  very  best 
of  Himself.  How  easy  to  have  put  them  off  with  formal 
aphorisms  and  brief  answers !  How  excusable  if  Jesus, 
worn  out  by  a  day  of  supreme  excitement  in  Jerusalem,  or 
wearied  by  the  long  journey  to  Sychar,  had  abstained  from 
anything  like  detailed  explanation  and  adequate  discussion ! 
Or,  if  not  altogether  excusable,  how  natural  had  it  been,  if 
Jesus  had  reserved  Himself,  and  kept  back  the  great  truth 
with  which  His  mind  was  full  for  some  public  and  important 
occasion !  But  Jesus  is  content  if,  by  the  most  lavish  ex- 
penditure of  Himself,  He  can  bring  a  single  soul  to  the 
knowledge  of  the  truth.  And  later  on,  when  His  Church 
begins  its  resistless  propaganda,  His  disciples  have  to  con- 
tent themselves  with  many  such  obscure  victories.  The 
value  of  the  meanest  unit  of  society  became  one  of  the  car- 
dinal axioms  of  their  thought.  The  redemption  of  society 
through  its  units  became  one  of  the  cardinal  principles  of 
their  action.  Fraternity,  that  feature  never  found  in  any 
purely  civil  society,  however  enlightened,  received  a  new 
definition  at  their  hands.  Onesimus  the  slave  was  equally 
"  a  brother  beloved  "  with  his  Christian  master.  Christianity 
thus  meant  a  real  triumph  of  democracy,  although  it  never 


JESUS  AND  THE  INDIVIDUAL       117 

used  the  term.  But  if  we  seek  for  the  source  from  which 
this  democracy  was  evolved,  do  Ave  not  find  it  in  the 
exquisite  grace,  entirely  free  from  all  condescension, 
with  which  Christ  treated  the  humblest  units  of  the  com- 
munity ? 

The  wisdom  of  Christ  was  justified  in  His  treatment  of 
Nicodemus  by  his  ultimate  conversion ;  if  we  hear  no  more 
of  the  woman  of  Sychar,  we  find  that  Christ's  conversation 
with  her  led  to  results  that  were  of  importance  in  the  devel- 
opment of  this  ministry.  The  incident  made  a  great  impres- 
sion upon  the  neighboring  population.  The  Samaritans  be- 
lieved in  Him,  not,  indeed,  for  a  very  lofty  reason  to  begin 
with,  but  for  a  better  reason  as  they  knew  Him  better ;  at 
first  because  of  the  woman's  description  of  how  Christ  had 
read  her  thought,  later  on  "  because  of  His  own  word." 
Christ  gave  them  the  opportunity  of  knowing  Him  by  re- 
maining in  their  city  two  days.  It  was  an  act,  no  doubt, 
horrifying  to  His  disciples,  but  it  left  only  pleasant  memories 
on  His  own  mind.  He  appears  to  have  formed  a  high 
opinion  of  these  pariahs  of  Jewish  civilization.  "  City  of 
Fools,"  as  Samaria  was,  yet  its  folly  was  more  agreeable  to 
Him  than  the  frigid  wisdom  of  Jerusalem.  He  found  the 
people  of  Samaria  genial,  kindly,  and  simple,  and  perhaps 
through  their  very  alienation  from  traditional  Judaism  the 
more  readily  disposed  to  hear  new  truths  with  tolerance. 
When  He  would  choose  a  type  of  simple  human  kindliness 
it  is  a  Samaritan  He  chooses,  boldly  placing  the  fine  conduct 
of  the  Samaritan  in  contrast  with  the  callousness  of  priests 
and  Levites  to  human  suffering.  The  good  Samaritan  has 
become  a  synonym  of  social  sympathies.  In  an  incident 
recorded  by  St.  Luke  the  Samaritan  is  also  represented  as  a 
type  of  pious  gratitude.  Ten  lepers  are  cleansed,  but  one 
only  returns  to  give   thanks,  and  he  is  a  Samaritan.     The 


118  THE    LIFE    OF    CHRIST 

drift  of  Christ's  mind  is  clearly  discerned  in  these  incidents. 
He  found  with  pain  that  He  came  unto  His  own,  and  His 
own  received  Him  not ;  but  from  pagans  and  pariahs  He 
never  failed  to  receive  a  tolerant  hearing  and  often  an  affec- 
tionate welcome.  So  marked  was  His  sympathy  with  the 
Samaritans  that  in  one  of  the  passionate  disputes  into  which 
He  was  drawn  with  the  Jews,  His  antagonists  did  not  hesi- 
tate to  accuse  Him  of  being  a  Samaritan.  "  Thou  art  a 
Samaritan,  and  hast  a  devil "  is  their  bitter  taunt.  His 
reply  is  a  reaffirmation  of  the  truth  He  first  taught  at  the 
well  of  Sychar,  that  true  religion  is  in  essence  spiritual,  and 
that  to  do  the  will  of  God  is  more  than  theological  systems 
or  the  boasts  of  ancestry. 

These  two  instances  of  Christ's  relations  with  individuals 
are  typical  of  many  others.  It  is  obvious  that  many  who 
heard  Him  speak,  heard  Him  but  once.  At  some  given 
point  His  path  intersected  theirs ;  He  talked  with  them  for 
a  few  moments,  tarried  with  them  it  may  be  for  a  night,  sat 
with  them  at  a  meal,  and  then  went  upon  His  way,  and  they 
saw  Him  no  more.  But  so  powerful  was  the  spell  of  His 
personality  that  in  these  rapid  interchanges  of  thought 
human  lives  were  irrevocably  altered.  The  seed  of  truth 
thus  scattered  with  a  lavish  hand  rarely  failed  to  spring  up. 
If  such  incidents  do  nothing  else,  they  give  us  an  overwhelm- 
ing sense  of  His  power  and  personality.  They  teach  us  how 
little  able  we  are  to  judge  aright  many  features  of  His  min- 
istry which  appear  incredible,  by  teaching  us  the  impossibil- 
ity of  all  comparison.  For  the  first  time  there  begins  to 
dawn  upon  the  mind  that  sublime  suspicion  once  formulated 
by  Napoleon,  when  he  said,  "  I  tell  you  that  I  understand 
men,  and  Jesus  was  more  than  a  man."  It  is  in  the  con- 
templation of  the  alleged  miraolos  of  Christ  that  we  usually 
fall    back    on   this    conviction ;  but  assuredly  the  miracles 


JESUS  AND  THE  INDIVIDUAL       119 

themselves  do  not  appear  more  miraculous  than  the  instan- 
taneous and  enduring  effects  of  a  few  words  uttered  by  Jesus 
in  altering  human  lives.  All  that  the  wisest  can  say  in  such 
a  case  is  that  no  wisdom  is  competent  to  measure  rightly  the 
personality  of  Jesus.  It  is  unique  in  history,  and  its  effects 
are  also  unique. 


CHAPTER  IX 

THE    MIRACLE-WOEKEIt 

The  arrival  of  Jesus  at  Cana  was  signalized  by  one  of  His 
best  authenticated  acts  of  mercy.  At  Cana  He  was  met  by 
a  certain  ruler,  or  Roman  official  of  some  rank,  whose  son 
lay  sick  in  Capernaum  of  a  fever.  The  distressed  father  be- 
lieved his  child  to  be  at  the  point  of  death,  and  as  a  last 
resource  sought  help  of  One  who  had  already  achieved  the 
reputation  of  a  thaumaturgus.  Jesus  expresses  in  the  clear- 
est language  consistent  with  sympathy  and  courtesy  His  dis- 
inclination to  interfere.  It  is  only  when  the  ruler  exclaims 
in  an  agony  of  love  and  vehemence,  "  Sir,  come  down  ere  my 
child  die,"  that  Jesus  melted  toward  him.  He  does  not  re- 
turn with  the  ruler  to  Capernaum  ;  He  contents  Himself  with 
the  definite  assurance  that  the  sick  child  will  not  die.  This 
assurance  the  father  receives  in  perfect  faith.  He  returns  to 
Capernaum  ;  meets  upon  the  way  his  own  servants,  who  have 
ridden  out  with  the  glad  tidings  that  his  son  is  convalescent ; 
inquires  at  what  hour  the  amendment  had  begun,  and  finds 
that  it  synchronizes  with  the  hour  when  Jesus  said  unto 
him,  "  Thy  son  liveth."  A  coincidence  so  remarkable  was 
naturally  interpreted  as  a  miracle.  Its  immediate  effect  was 
greatly  to  enhance  the  reputation  of  Jesus  in  Galilee,  and  to 
add  to  the  growing  circle  of  His  disciples  one  household  of 
considerable  social  eminence  in  Capernaum. 

So  far  as  this  particular  story  goes  it  offers  no  difficulties. 
We  are  told  that  the  illness  from  which  the  child  suffered 
was  a  fever,  the  symptoms  of  which  were  no  doubt  described 

120 


THE  MIRACLE-WORKER  121 

by  the  anxious  father,  and  the  nature  of  which  was  probably 
quite  familiar  to  Jesus,  to  whom  the  local  maladies  of  Gali- 
lee had  been  a  natural  subject  of  observation.  From  these 
data  it  would  be  easy  to  deduce  a  prophecy  of  the  child's  re- 
covery. The  modem  physician,  trained  by  long  experience 
in  habits  of  intuition  and  deduction,  often  ventures  on  such 
a  positive  verdict,  and  is  rarely  mistaken.  Jesus  in  this  case 
did  nothing  more  than  such  a  physician  in  the  course  of  a 
wide  practice  often  does.  Nor  is  it  necessary  to  depart  from 
the  relatively  rational  ground  of  coincidence  in  noting  that 
the  child's  turn  for  the  better  happened  at  the  very  hour 
when  Jesus  dismissed  the  father  with  an  assurance  of  his 
recovery.  Such  a  coincidence  would  have  a  certain  occult 
value  with  the  ignorant,  but  in  itself  it  is  of  slight  impor- 
tance. Things  as  startling  have  happened  many  times  in 
history  and  in  individual  experience.  A  mind  predisposed 
to  faith  in  the  supernatural  is  always  prepared  to  interpret 
a  coincidence  as  a  miracle ;  and  it  was  in  entire  accordance 
with  the  spirit  of  the  times  that  this  singular  case  of  healing 
should  have  been  so  interpreted. 

The  last  consideration  is  of  vital  importance  in  any  serious 
review  of  the  alleged  miracles  of  Christ.  The  world  of 
Christ's  time  had  no  system  of  medicine,  and  still  less  had  it 
any  scientific  knowledge  of  natural  law.  Disease  was  com- 
monly regarded  as  the  work  of  evil  spirits,  and  hence  exor- 
cism was  common.  Natural  law,  as  an  inevitable  sequence 
of  cause  and  effect,  was  not  so  much  as  apprehended,  except 
by  a  very  few  superior  minds  of  Greece  and  Rome.  The 
average  Eoman  was  in  most  things  fully  as  superstitious  as 
the  Oriental.  Lucretius,  the  greatest  philosophic  poet  of 
antiquity,  who  was  the  first  to  outline  the  superb  order  of 
the  universe,  was  regarded  by  his  contemporaries  as  an  athe- 
ist.    As  for  the  Jew,  his  entire  history  had  trained  him  to  a 


122  THE    LIFE    OF   CHRIST 

fixed  belief  in  supernaturalism.  The  occult  was  interwoven 
at  all  points  in  the  national  history,  and  ordinary  events 
were  habitually  interpreted  in  relation  to  spiritual  forces. 

The  East  has  always  had  a  peculiar  power  of  producing 
necromancers.  Thus,  when  Moses  essayed  to  work  miracles 
in  the  presence  of  Pharaoh,  he  soon  discovered  that  the  ma- 
gicians of  Egypt  were  able  to  rival  him  on  his  own  ground. 
Elijah  and  Elisha  were  regarded  as  magicians.  Elisha  was 
supposed  to  have  made  iron  swim — a  piece  of  pure  magic  in 
the  sense  in  which  an  Indian  juggler  would  use  the  term  ; 
and  tradition  further  stated  that  both  these  great  prophets 
had  raised  the  dead.  Curiously  mingled  in  the  history  of 
Elijah  and  Elisha  are  indications  that  some  of  their  acts  were 
conditioned  by  a  superior  knowledge  of  nature.  Elisha,  by 
a  very  simple  knowledge  of  chemistry,  was  able  to  sweeten  a 
brackish  spring,  and  to  destroy  the  effects  of  poison  in  a  pot 
of  broth  by  an  antidote.  Each  of  these  acts,  however,  passed 
for  a  miracle.  It  would  be  tedious  to  enlarge  the  category. 
The  point  to  be  observed  is  that  the  world  had  not  in  Christ's 
day  attained  a  rational  attitude  toward  phenomena.  Any  act 
out  of  the  common  was  esteemed  miraculous,  and  miracle 
was  demanded  from  a  great  teacher  as  an  evidence  of  his  au- 
thority. It  naturally  follows  that  many  acts  of  such  a 
teacher,  in  themselves  quite  explicable,  became  rapidly  dis- 
torted by  the  common  faith  in  the  miraculous  ;  and  having 
once  taken  the  dye  of  miracle  the  original  texture  is  no  longer 
discernible. 

In  dealing  with  the  vexed  question  of  miracle  it  is  a  safe 
rule  to  seek  a  natural  explanation  of  any  act  described  as 
miraculous,  where  such  an  explanation  is  jDossible.  It  does 
not  follow,  however,  that  the  account  of  the  act  given  by  a 
contemporary  historian  is  insincere,  fraudulent,  or  meant  to 
deceive,  because  it  furnishes  us  with  a  supernatural  instead 


THE  MIRACLE-WORKER  123 

of  a  natural  explanation.  Nothing  is  clearer  in  Gospel  his- 
tory than  that  Christ  was  universally  credited  with  the  power 
of  working  miracles.  He  believed  in  His  own  power  of 
miracle-working ;  His  disciples,  who  had  every  opportunity 
of  knowing  the  facts,  believed  in  this  power ;  and,  what  is  of 
yet  greater  significance,  His  enemies,  who  had  every  reason 
to  deny  His  miracles,  accepted  them  as  indubitable.  Nico- 
demus,  in  his  famous  interview  with  Christ,  began  by  ex- 
pressing the  opinion  that  no  one  could  do  the  wonderful 
works  that  Christ  did,  if  God  were  not  with  him.  The 
Pharisees  on  a  subsequent  occasion  attributed  these  same 
wonderful  works  to  collusion  with  demons  and  evil  spirits  ; 
but  in  neither  case  was  there  any  attempt  to  deny  that  acts 
had  been  done  which  could  only  be  described  as  miraculous. 
The  old  dilemma  proposed  to  the  Christian  thinker  was  this  : 
either  these  statements  which  attributed  miracles  to  Christ 
were  true  or  false ;  if  true  it  was  blasphemy  to  question 
them  ;  if  false,  the  whole  cause  of  Christianity  stood  discred- 
ited. But  there  is  a  middle  course,  at  once  more  rational 
and  more  reverent.  Christianity  is  not  discredited  unless  it 
can  be  proved  that  Christ  wilfully  deceived  Himself  and  oth- 
ers, end  played  the  part  of  a  charlatan  in  these  acts.  Nor  is 
the  story  of  an  alleged  miracle  false  because  it  contains  in- 
credible statements.  The  story  may  contain  both  absolute 
truth  and  unconscious  misrepresentation.  A  full  and  just  al- 
lowance must  be  made  for  the  mental  characteristics  of  the 
narrator  and  of  the  time  in  which  he  lived.  If  we  can  settle 
the  main  question,  which  is  the  absolute  sincerity  of  the  his- 
tory with  which  we  are  dealing,  we  are  then  perfectly  free  to 
apply  the  tests  of  criticism  to  the  history  ;  and  in  doing  this, 
it  is,  as  I  have  said,  a  safe  rule  to  seek  a  natural  explanation 
of  any  act  described  as  miraculous,  where  such  an  explana- 
tion is  possible. 


124  THE    LIFE    OF   CHRIST 

But  it  will  be  asked,  Is  a  natural  explanation  of  these  as- 
tonishing deeds  possible  ?  We  have  seen  that  the  recovery 
of  the  ruler's  son,  which  is  specifically  described  by  St.  John 
as  "  the  second  miracle  that  Jesus  did,"  was  not  necessarily 
a  miracle  at  all.  Christ  Himself  makes  no  such  claim.  His 
own  words  are  plain :  "  Go  thy  way,  thy  son  liveth."  He 
states  a  fact  of  which  He  is  inwardly  assured,  and  the  event 
proves  that  He  is  right.  The  modern  thinker  is  content  to 
let  the  story  stand  thus,  as  an  instance  of  profound  premoni- 
tion. The  actual  spectator,  living  in  an  age  which  was  filled 
with  faith  in  supernaturalism,  could  hardly  help  himself  in 
introducing  an  element  of  the  occult  into  the  story,  and  de- 
scribing it  as  a  miracle.  What  each  does  is  simply  to  re- 
duce the  same  factors  to  the  intellectual  terms  of  his  time. 
The  wise  man,  in  contemplating  these  widely  different  pro- 
cesses, would  say  that  each  should  be  free  to  believe  as  he 
pleases,  as  long  as  his  belief  in  the  sincerity  of  Christ  and 
of  his  biographers  remains  untouched. 

If  it  be  a  safe  rule  to  prefer  a  natural  to  a  supernatural 
explanation  of  any  alleged  miracle,  a  yet  higher  axiom  of 
wisdom  is  that  no  temper  is  so  fatal  to  research  as  invincible 
incredulity.  One  of  the  greatest  masters  of  science  in  our 
own  day  has  laid  down  the  rule  that  the  true  scientist  should 
show  himself  extremely  reluctant  to  deny  any  kind  of  phe- 
nomenon, merely  because  it  appears  unintelligible.  "  Scien- 
tific sagacity  consists  in  being  very  careful  how  we  deny  the 
possibility  of  anything,"  says  Flammarion.  Such  a  counsel 
is  of  especial  value  in  relation  to  the  miracles  of  Christ.  We 
have  already  seen  that  the  closer  we  come  to  the  personality 
of  Jesus  the  more  does  the  conviction  grow  that  there  was  an 
element  in  that  personality  which  transcends  all  that  we 
know  of  ordinary  human  nature.  With  a  single  glance  or 
word  He  was  able  to  produce  immeasurable  effects  on  indi- 


THE  MIRACLE-WORKER  125 

viduals.  Even  in  His  last  humiliation,  when  armed  men 
rushed  upon  Him  in  the  garden  of  Gethsemane,  there  streamed 
from  Him  a  power  that  hurled  them  backward,  and  brought 
them  to  their  knees.  Is  it  not  easily  conceivable,  then,  that 
this  force  of  personality  should  have  an  extraordinary  effect 
upon  disease  ?  A  case  in  point  suggests  itself  from  the  life 
of  Catherine  of  Siena.  Father  Raymond  relates  that  in  the 
time  of  plague  in  Siena  he  came  home  exhausted  by  his  la- 
bors, and  felt  himself  sickening  for  death.  Catherine  then 
"  laid  her  pure  hands  upon  him,"  prayed  over  him,  sat  by 
his  side  till  he  fell  asleep,  and  when  he  woke  he  was  per- 
fectly well.  The  stoiy  suggests  at  once  a  case  of  healing  by 
magnetic  force  or  hypnotism,  joined  with  strong  faith  in  the 
person  healed.  Many  of  the  cures  wrought  by  Jesus  sug- 
gest the  same  process.  He  usually  demands  faith  in  the 
sick  person  as  a  condition  of  the  experiment  He  is  besought 
to  make.  He  is  conscious  on  one  occasion  of  "  virtue  "  hav- 
ing gone  out  of  Him — a  most  significant  phrase.  A  continu- 
ous impression  is  produced  of  a  person  of  extraordinary 
vitality,  gifted  with  the  rarest  and  highest  quality  of  magnetic 
force,  moving  among  ordinary  people  and  establishing  over 
them  an  absolute  control.  Now  we  know  very  little  of  the 
limits  and  conditions  of  such  forces  as  these ;  and  what  we 
know  is  so  astounding  that  we  cannot  but  feel  that  this  is 
pre-eminently  a  case  for  that  scientific  sagacity  which  denies 
the  possibility  of  nothing. 

Whatever  was  the  exact  nature  of  this  power  which  Christ 
exercised,  it  is  certain  that  it  did  much  to  give  effect  to  His 
ministry.  Yet  there  was  no  inherent  reason  in  the  mere  act 
of  miracle-working  to  produce  this  result.  When  the  Phari- 
sees said  that  He  worked  miracles  by  collusion  with  demons 
they  expressed  a  common  conviction  that  supernatural  power 
had  nothing  necessarily  Divine  in  it.     It  made  Him  formida- 


126  THE    LIFE    OF   CHRIST 

ble,  but  it  did  not  prove  Him  good.  And  it  is  also  easy  to 
see  that  such  a  power  was  as  likely  to  repel  men  as  to  at- 
tract them.  It  did  indeed  in  one  instance  repel  men;  so 
great  a  spirit  of  terror  was  produced  that  the  inhabitants  of  a 
whole  province  besought  Christ  to  depart  out  of  their  coasts. 
How  was  it,  then,  that  the  miracles  of  Christ  proved  a  most 
effective  help  to  His  ministry  ?  Simply  because  they  were 
invariably  devoted  to  moral  and  benignant  ends.  From  first 
to  last  He  wrought  no  miracle  on  His  own  behalf.  He,  who 
fed  the  multitudes,  was  Himself  hungry ;  He,  who  raised  the 
dead,  died.  There  was  thus  produced  a  profound  impression 
of  the  unselfishness  of  Christ.  In  after-times  it  became  the 
basis  of  the  great  Pauline  doctrine  of  the  voluntary  humilia- 
tion of  Christ.  But  at  the  time  it  was  felt  rather  as  a  won- 
derful proof  of  the  benignity  of  God.  Men  praised  God  that 
such  power  was  given  unto  men  :  they  should  also  have  seen, 
and  perhaps  in  part  did  see,  that  the  divinest  element  in  this 
power  was  its  restraint.  Even  if  the  power  were  much  more 
circumscribed  than  the  story  of  the  miracles  would  lead  us 
to  believe,  yet  it  is  evident  that  it  was  sufficient  to  lay  the 
kiigloms  of  this  world  at  the  feet  of  Christ.  Had  personal 
ascendancy,  culminating  in  Kingship  and  Empire,  been  His 
aim,  He  possessed  a  weapon  by  which  the  wildest  ambitions 
might  have  been  gratified.  That  weapon  was  never  used. 
His  Divine  unselfishness  was  thus  vindicated,  and  in  the  de- 
gree that  this  unselfishness  was  realized,  the  spiritual  ends 
of  His  ministry  was  served. 

The  restraint  with  which  Christ  used  His  power  of  work- 
ing miracles  has  another  aspect.  It  might  be  argued  that 
since  a  power  so  astounding  was  invariably  used  for  benig- 
nant ends,  benignity  itself  would  dictate  the  widest  possible 
use  of  this  power.  Why  should  Jesus  have  been  content  to 
use  this  power  but  rarely  ?     Why  heal  an  occasional  leper, 


THE  MIRACLE-WORKER  127 

when  by  a  word  leprosy  itself  might  have  been  extinguished 
throughout  a  whole  city  or  countryside?  There  is  some- 
thing very  remarkable  about  the  apparently  accidental  char- 
acter of  Christ's  miracles.  A  blind  man  or  a  leper  meets 
Him,  and  on  the  sudden  dictate  of  pity  He  heals  him.  His 
meeting  with  the  sad  procession  which  issued  from  the  city 
of  Nain,  bearing  to  the  tomb  the  only  son  of  the  mother  who 
is  a  widow,  is  plainly  accidental.  There  is  no  instance  of  a 
miracle  deliberately  planned.  But  if  we  grant  the  posses- 
sion of  a  real  power  of  working  miracles,  we  should  naturally 
expect  deliberately  planned  miracles.  We  should  have  at 
least  expected  that  Jesus  Himself  would  have  chosen  with 
the  utmost  care  the  place,  the  time,  the  opportunity.  And, 
returning  to  the  wider  aspect  of  the  whole  problem,  we 
should  certainly  expect  a  much  more  generous  use  of  mirac- 
ulous power  than  we  find. 

The  answer  to  these  questions  lies  in  Christ's  own  concep- 
tion of  His  mission  among  men.  That  mission  was  spiritual. 
Its  supreme  aim  was  not  to  save  the  bodies  of  men  but  their 
souls.  But  man,  being  what  he  is,  is  far  more  concerned 
about  his  body  than  his  soul.  Defective  virtue  is  to  him 
scarcely  a  matter  of  acute  regret,  but  defective  physical 
health  is  to  him  a  cause  of  pain,  of  dismay,  and  of  humilia- 
tion. Christ  was  perfectly  aware  of  this  characteristic  of 
human  nature,  and  grieved  over  it.  He  saw  that  its  inevita- 
ble tendency,  as  it  affected  Himself,  must  be  that  He  would 
find  Himself  far  more  highly  valued  as  a  miracle-worker 
than  as  a  teacher.  Men  followed  Him  not  for  the  bread  of 
life  which  He  gave  them,  but  for  the  loaves  and  fishes.  In 
the  degree  that  His  reputation  as  a  wonder-worker  rose,  the  \ 
real  significance  of  His  mission  as  a  teacher  sent  of  God  was 
forgotten.  Miracles,  seen  from  this  point  of  view,  so  far 
from  forwarding  the  purposes  dearest  to  His  heart,  really  re- 


128  THE    LIFE    OF    CHRIST 

tarded  them  by  producing  a  wrong  estimate  of  His  character. 
The  dilemma  thus  created  is  perfectly  apparent.  On  the  one 
hand,  mere  humanity  of  feeling  demanded  that  a  power  of 
alleviating  human  suffering  in  no  common  way  should  be 
widely  used  ;  on  the  other  hand,  there  was  the  peril  that  this 
power,  if  allowed  the  widest  operation  demanded  by  a  warm 
compassion,  would  defeat  the  very  purposes  for  which  the 
life  of  Christ  was  lived  at  all.  Christ's  way  out  of  the  di- 
lemma was  to  restrain  the  exercise  of  His  power  to  the 
narrowest  limits  consistent  with  a  sense  of  humanity.  Hence 
we  find  that  He  often  wrought  miracles  with  extreme  reluc- 
tance. On  one  occasion  He  sighed  deeply  when  about  to 
restore  sight  to  a  blind  man,  recognizing  that  the  anxious 
group  gathered  round  Him  cared  far  more  for  a  physical 
good  than  for  the  best  spiritual  good  that  He  could  offer 
them.  He  complained  of  the  hardness  of  heart  which  was 
incapable  of  recognizing  a  Divine  truth  without  some  earthly 
sign.  If  He  had  spoken  His  whole  mind  to  the  blind  man 
over  whom  He  sighed,  He  would  have  said  that  it  was  better 
to  enter  into  the  Kingdom  of  God  maimed,  than  having  two 
eyes  to  be  cast  into  hell  fire.  He  constantly  warned  those 
whom  He  had  healed  to  keep  the  matter  secret,  because  He 
did  not  wish  to  be  known  as  a  necromancer  or  exorcist. 
This  desire  for  secrecy,  the  expressed  wish  to  keep  hidden 
what  in  the  nature  of  things  could  not  be  concealed,  has 
often  seemed  to  the  reader  of  the  Gospels  an  insincerity. 
But  it  is  perfectly  intelligible  on  the  grounds  already  stated. 
Christ  wished  to  be  believed  for  His  word's  sake ;  it  was 
only  when  He  found  how  impossible  it  was  for  average  hu- 
manity to  rise  to  this  ideal  height,  that  He  took  lower 
ground,  and  adjured  men  if  they  could  not  believe  Him  for 
His  word's  sake  at  least  to  believe  Him  for  His  work's  sake. 
Perhaps  in  taking  this  ground  Christ  also  foresaw  that  in 


THE  MIRACLE-WORKER  129 

the  long  run,  tried  by  the  judgment  of  the  ages,  miracles 
were  more  likely  to  retard  His  cause  than  to  serve  it.  It  is 
an  obvious  reflection  that  the  very  element  in  His  ministry 
which  helped  His  cause  most  among  His  contemporaries  has 
with  later  generations  become  more  and  more  a  stone  of 
stumbling  and  a  rock  of  offence.  The  modern  student  of 
Christianity,  bred  in  the  schools  of  an  exact  science,  will 
often  find  himself  wishing  that  the  "  miraculous  element "  in 
the  Gospels  could  be  eliminated.  It  is  a  vain  wish,  because 
the  "  miraculous  element "  not  merely  runs  through  the 
Gospels,  but  is  the  great  cohesive  force  that  binds  them  into 
unity.  We  have  to  take  things  as  we  find  them.  The  main 
point  is  not  whether  the  recorded  miracles  are  absolutely 
exact  historic  statements,  but  whether  they  are  sincere  state- 
ments. There  can  be  no  doubt  on  this  point.  Men  reported 
what  they  honestly  believed  themselves  to  have  seen  and 
known.  If  we  can  be  sure  of  this  the  rest  is  a  matter  of 
relative  indifference.  Truth  is  an  essence,  not  a  form.  The 
form  may  be  capable  of  various  interpretations ;  essential 
truth  speaks  in  one  uniform  accent  which  never  appeals  in 
vain  to  the  man  of  sincere  temper. 

It  may  be  remembered,  however,  that  Christ  Himself  never 
attached  the  value  to  miracles  which  His  followers  did  even 
in  His  own  lifetime.  He  treated  them  as  purely  subsidiary 
to  His  teachings,  as  accommodations  of  His  method  to  meet 
the  weaknesses  of  human  nature.  In  the  conclusion  of  one 
of  His  greatest  parables,  that  of  Dives  and  Lazarus,  His  con- 
viction of  the  abiding  inutility  of  miracles  as  a  means  of  con- 
version is  stated  with  great  force.  Most  men,  in  regretting 
their  scepticism  concerning  an  unseen  world,  would  be  ready 
to  say  that  nothing  would  convince  them  so  completely  as  a 
real  apparition,  coming  to  them  across  the  gulf  of  silence 
and  the  grave.  To  see  a  ghost,  and  to  be  sure  that  we  saw 
9 


130  THE    LIFE    OF   CHRIST 

it,  would  be  proof  positive,  we  think,  of  u  world  of  life1 
beyond  the  illusion  of  the  grave.  Death  would  then  be 
meaningless  to  us,  extinction  incredible,  annihilation  an  ab- 
surd impossibility.  And  we  think,  further,  that  one  such 
solemn  experience  as  this  would  be  efficacious  to  change 
our  whole  scheme  of  conduct  with  a  thoroughness  which  all 
the  wisdom  of  the  philosophers  and  the  prophets  could  not 
achieve.  Christ  contradicts  the  truth  of  these  familiar  specu- 
lations, and  declares  them  illusions.  He  who  will  not  hear 
Moses  and  the  prophets  would  not  believe  though  one  rose 
from  the  dead.  The  man  who  cannot  or  will  not  attain  to 
goodness  under  the  normal  conditions  of  human  life  would 
never  do  so  under  abnormal  conditions.  In  course  of  time 
the  most  acute  impression  of  terror  wears  off;  or  if  it  be 
often  repeated,  it  is  with  an  ever-lessening  impression,  till  at 
last  it  ranks  with  the  normal,  and  as  such  is  easily  despised. 
This  was  a  train  of  thought  which  Christ  often  applied  to 
His  miracles.  He  saw  that  as  men  became  used  to  them 
they  became  indifferent  to  them,  and  even  forgot  them. 
Hence  He  refuses  to  base  His  claim  on  miracles.  He  leaves 
men  to  think  what  they  will  of  them ;  the  greater  question 
is  what  they  think  of  Him  ?  When,  therefore,  theology  de- 
mands an  absohrte  faith  in  miracles  as  the  first  condition  of 
faith  in  Christ,  it  is  acting  in  direct  opposition  to  His  spirit. 
If  we  only  believe  in  Christ  because  of  the  miracles  which 
He  wrought,  we  do  not  really  believe  at  all.  He  Himself 
encourages  us  to  put  miracles  in  a  subsidiary  relation  to 
Himself ;  for  it  is  not  as  a  miracle-worker  that  Jesus  has 
won  the  hearts  of  humanity,  but  as  the  Lover  of  Souls,  who 
is  the  Way,  the  Truth,  and  the  Life. 

The  case  may  be  summed  up  thus,  then.  There  can  be 
no  doubt  that  Jesus  believed  that  He  wrought  miracles,  and 
that  this  belief  was  shared  by  His  disciples,  His  friends,  and 


THE  MIRACLE-WORKER  131 

even  by  His  enemies.  The  reports  of  these  astounding  acts 
are  conditioned  by  the  mental  characteristics  of  the  time. 
They  vary  in  credibility,  and  we  are  at  liberty  to  distinguish 
the  degree  of  credibility  in  each.  They  differ  from  the  com- 
mon acts  of  the  necromancer,  and  even  the  miraculous  acts 
of  the  prophets,  in  this — that  they  were  never  wrought  for 
selfish  or  revengeful,  but  always  for  benignant  ends.  They 
fit  into  the  scheme  of  Christ's  mission  by  illustrating  His 
own  unselfishness  and  benignity  of  spirit,  and  hence  were  of 
potent  sendee  in  promoting  His  authority  over  men.  On 
the  other  hand,  He  Himself  always  treated  them  as  sub- 
sidiary to  His  main  work,  which  was  to  save  and  redeem  the 
souls  of  men.  Their  accidental  character  strengthens  the 
conviction  of  their  authenticity.  Their  abiding  value  is  that 
they  illustrate  the  temper  of  Christ,  and  through  Christ  the 
temper  of  God  toward  man.  Finally,  where  they  are  most 
confounding  to  the  reason,  we  have  to  remember  that  we 
have  a  most  imperfect  apprehension  of  the  personality  of 
Christ,  and  are  therefore  unable  to  judge  the  effects  of  that 
overwhelming  personality  upon  others. 

These  considerations  must  guide  us,  and  always  be  in  our 
minds  as  we  now  follow  the  story  of  Jesus  to  its  tragic  and 
sublime  close.  With  His  return  from  Jerusalem  to  Caper- 
naum, the  full  scheme  of  His  ministry  is  developed.  He 
henceforth  treads  a  path  more  lofty  than  was  ever  scaled  by 
mortal.  His  life  abounds  in  incidents  such  as  are  found  in 
no  other  human  life.  To  great  multitudes  He  is  known  to 
the  end  only  as  the  Miracle- Worker ;  to  an  elect  few,  whose 
numbers  slowly  multiply,  as  He  Himself  desires  to  be  known 
— a  Eedeemer  in  whose  hands  lay  the  spiritual  destinies  of  the 
world. 


CHAPTEK  X 

THE    NEW   SOCIETY 

We  now  find  Jesus  fully  launched  upon  His  career  as  a 
Man  with  a  Mission.  His  whole  time  and  strength  are 
henceforth  absorbed  in  continual  public  teachings  and  acts 
of  mercy,  which  often  leave  Him  no  leisure  so  much  as  to 
eat.  His  wanderings  from  town  to  town  obey  no  definite 
programme,  although  they  are  governed  by  a  general  pref- 
erence for  the  shores  of  Galilee.  When  we  remember  how 
vast  has  been  the  influence  of  these  busy  years  upon  the 
fortunes  of  the  world,  it  is  surprising  to  find  how  circum- 
scribed was  the  geographical  area  of  Christ's  ministry. 
Capernaum,  Bethsaida,  and  Magdala,  towns  closely  identified 
with  some  of  His  most  remarkable  words  and  acts,  lie  closely 
together  in  the  northern  reach  of  the  Lake  of  Galilee.  Tibe- 
rias, the  only  surviving  town  upon  the  lake,  He  is  supposed 
never  to  have  entered ;  although  it  must  be  confessed  that 
the  reasons  given  for  this  tradition  are  entirely  inadequate. 
The  little  town  of  Nain,  lying  close  to  the  older  town  of 
Endor,  between  Mount  Tabor  on  the  north  and  the  moun- 
tains of  Gilboa  on  the  south,  Christ  entered  but  once,  and 
this  was  the  nearest  approach  to  the  great  plain  of  Esdraelon, 
famous  for  its  associations  with  Gideon  and  Saul,  Elijah  and 
Ahab,  and  some  of  the  more  momentous  of  Israelitish  battles. 
In  the  last  year  of  His  life  He  penetrates  northward  as  far 
as  the  Koman  town  of  Caesarea  Philippi  and  Mount  Hermon, 
which  was  undoubtedly  the  Mount  of  Transfiguration ;  but 
the  great  city  of  Damascus,  plainly  visible  from  the  slopes 

132 


THE    NEW   SOCIETY  133 

of  Hermon,  the  oldest  city  in  the  world,  which  was  metro- 
politan even  in  the  time  of  Abraham,  Christ  never  visited. 
He  appears  at  one  time  to  have  made  a  brief  missionary 
journey  to  the  northern  seaward  towns,  including  Sidon  and 
Tyre,  but  the  important  southern  towns  of  Joppa  and  Gaza 
were  unvisited.  Samaria  and  Jericho  He  knew,  for  these 
were  important  cities  easily  accessible  on  the  way  to  Jerusa- 
lem ;  but  Bethlehem  and  Hebron,  towns  which  lie  but  a  little 
south  of  Jerusalem,  the  first  of  which  was  full  of  sacred  as- 
sociations, are  not  named  in  the  record  of  the  Gospel  minis- 
try. The  entire  area  thus  defined  is  about  one  hundred 
miles  from  north  to  south,  with  a  breadth  rarely  exceeding 
twenty  or  thirty  miles ;  yet  in  this  narrow  theatre  the  great- 
est events  in  human  history  were  transacted. 

The  greatest  event  of  all  in  these  years  was  the  establish- 
ment of  what  may  be  called  the  New  Society.  We  have  seen 
that  immediately  on  His  return  from  the  baptism  at  Jordan, 
Jesus  began  to  call  disciples,  which  was  an  act  entirely  in 
accord  with  Jewish  precedent.  It  was  a  common  thing  for 
a  famous  Rabbi  to  surround  himself  with  neophytes,  whom 
he  instructed  in  his  own  peculiar  tenets ;  but  we  soon  find 
Jesus  greatly  enlarging  this  process,  and  giving  it  an  entirely 
new  definition  and  significance.  If  one  were  asked  to  state 
what  single  feature  in  the  career  of  Christ  is  so  distinct  and 
original  as  to  separate  Him  from  all  other  teachers,  no 
doubt  a  variety  of  replies  would  suggest  themselves  to  the 
mind.  One  might  name  His  enthusiasm  for  humanity,  an- 
other His  complete  devotion  to  truth,  and  yet  another  the 
manner  of  His  death.  But  each  of  these  replies  would  soon 
be  found  inadequate,  because  we  should  readily  discover 
similar  features  in  the  careers  of  other  great  teachers  and 
reformers.  Buddha  also  was  distinguished  by  an  intense 
love   of   humanity,   Socrates   by   an  invincible  devotion  to 


134  THE    LIFE    OF   CHRIST 

truth,  and  many  martyrs  have  endured  a  painful  death  with 
an  equal  courage  and  tranquillity.  We  have  to  look  deeper, 
and  we  find  the  only  adequate  answer  to  the  question  in  this 
singular  feature  of  Christ's  ministry,  that  He  founded  a  New 
Society  with  Himself  as  Centre.  His  true  Gospel  was  not 
in  anything  He  said ;  it  was  Himself.  The  most  divinely 
original  of  all  His  acts  and  teachings  was  contained  in  a 
single  phrase — "  Follow  Me."  In  uttering  this  phrase  He 
established  within  the  life  of  the  world  His  own  life,  as  a 
new  centre  of  gravity  and  cohesion,  and  He  thus  made  per- 
sonal loyalty  to  Himself  the  vital  force  which  was  to  trans- 
form the  whole  organism  of  Society. 

"We  may  measure  the  audacity  of  this  act  by  a  few  quite 
obvious  comparisons.  Thus,  for  example,  in  saying,  "Fol- 
low Me,"  Jesus  said  what  no  Hebrew  prophet  had  dared  to 
say.  The  prophet  was  a  personage  of  unique  authority  and 
influence,  who  was  capable  of  exercising  a  vital  control  over 
the  national  destinies.  He  was  peculiar  to  Hebrew  history, 
and  was  indeed  born  out  of  the  moral  intensity  of  the  He- 
brew race.  His  supreme  mission  was  to  bring  human  so- 
ciety into  conformity  to  the  will  of  God.  He  appeared  at 
intervals,  coming  now  from  the  court  and  the  Temple,  now 
from  the  sheepfold  and  the  desert,  but  always  securing  an 
authority  and  reverence  such  as  kings  seldom  knew.  He 
was  prepared  to  set  himself,  and  often  did  set  himself,  in 
solitary  antagonism  against  a  whole  nation — arraigning, 
judging,  and  condemning  it.  But  sublime  as  was  the  self- 
confidence  of  the  prophet,  he  never  dared  to  suggest  himself 
as  the  centre  of  a  new  society.  He  declared  truth,  but  he 
suppressed  himself.  Neither  Moses,  Elijah,  nor  John  the 
Baptist  ever  imagined  that  by  creating  a  general  and  pas- 
sionate sense  of  loyalty  to  themselves  they  could  change  the 
whole  structure  of  society  round  about  them.     But  Jesus  did 


THE    NEW   SOCIETY  135 

imagine  this,  and  boldly  suggested  Himself  as  the  source 
and  authority  of  a  new  life  out  of  which  a  new  world  would 
spring. 

We  have  already  mentioned  the  great  name  of  Socrates. 
Few  writers  on  the  life  of  Jesus  have  been  able  to  avoid  the 
parallel  suggested  by  the  life  of  Socrates,  nor  is  there  any 
good  reason  why  they  should,  since  the  resemblance  between 
Socrates  and  Christ  is  in  many  ways  remarkable.  We  find  in 
Socrates  a  noble  jealousy  for  truth  such  as  Christ  would  have 
ardently  approved.  We  see  Socrates  calling  disciples  round 
him,  even  as  Christ  did ;  explaining  truth  to  them  with  an 
infinite  patience,  enabling  them  to  realize  that  to  know  the 
truth  is  the  only  freedom ;  himself  meanwhile  bearing  in- 
dignity and  scorn,  poverty  and  hardship,  with  the  complete 
philosophic  indifference  of  one  to  whom  the  only  real  life  is 
the  life  of  the  spirit.  But  there  the  parallel  ends,  except  in 
so  far  as  the  death  of  Socrates  reveals  those  Divine  qualities 
of  fidelity  and  courage  which  make  all  martyrs  one.  Socra- 
tes never  said,  "Follow  me."  He  valued  loyalty  to  the  ideas 
he  formulated,  but  passionate  allegiance  to  himself  he  neither 
desired  nor  demanded.  Christ,  on  the  contrary,  demands 
not  so  much  intellectual  conviction  as  personal  loyalty.  He 
never  speaks  of  truth  after  the  impersonal  manner  of  Socra- 
tes ;  "  /  am  the  Truth,"  is  His  great  formula.  The  counsels 
of  Christ  upon  life  and  conduct  greatly  transcend  in  cogency 
and  truth  all  that  has  come  to  us  from  the  noblest  philo- 
sophic minds  of  Greece  and  Rome,  and  he  who  follows  these 
counsels  can  hardly  fail  to  attain  a  high  level  of  philosophic 
peace  and  virtue.  But  Christianity  is  not  primarily  a  phil- 
osophy, and  its  real  bond  is  not  so  much  truths  held  in  com- 
mon as  a  common  loyalty  to  its  Divine  author.  Its  initia- 
tory rite  is  love  :  "  Simon  Peter,  lovest  thou  Me  ?  "  Its  bond 
of  unity  is  love  :  "  I  am  in  the  Father,  and  ye  in  Me :  He 


136  THE    LIFE    OF    CHRIST 

that  loveth  Me  shall  be  loved  of  My  Father,  and  I  will  love 
him,  and  will  manifest  Myself  unto  him."  Its  inspiration 
for  every  species  of  right  conduct  is  love :  "If  ye  love  Me, 
ye  will  keep  My  commandments."  The  voice  of  Christ,  hi 
its  appeal  to  the  human  race,  perpetually  reiterates  this  call 
to  adoring  loyalty,  and  it  is  by  the  force  of  this  loyalty  to 
Himself  that  Christ  expected  to  create,  and  has  created,  a 
new  society. 

There  is  an  old  saying  to  the  effect  that  the  Roinan  went 
to  the  priest  for  his  religion,  but  to  the  philosopher  for  his 
morality,  and  substantially  this  is  a  fair  representation  of 
the  thought  of  the  ancient  world.  Religion  is  thus  seen  as 
altogether  divorced  from  conduct.  Philosophy  is  also  seen 
as  a  system  of  ethics  which  is  destitute  of  religious  sanction. 
The  most  that  it  aimed  to  do  was  to  furnish  a  wise  plan  of 
life,  based  upon  considerations  of  utility.  But  it  is  obvious 
that  a  man  may  attain  a  high  degree  of  philosophic  wisdom, 
without  attaining  fine  emotions,  or  even  at  the  expense  of 
fine  emotions.  He  may  be  wise  without  being  moral,  learned 
without  being  kind,  sagacious  without  being  loving  or  lov- 
able, a  scholar  or  a  sage  without  possessing  a  single  attrac- 
tive quality  which  would  make  us  deplore  his  death.  Thus, 
the  inconsistencies  of  Seneca  afford  one  of  the  saddest  ironies 
of  history,  and  our  admiration  of  the  wisdom  of  the  philos- 
opher is  constantly  tempered  by  our  scorn  for  the  flatterer 
of  Nero,  intent  on  ease  and  luxury  even  while  he  preaches 
the  beauty  of  virtue  and  the  pleasures  of  poverty.  But  the 
career  of  Seneca  affords  a  theme  for  reflections  far  more 
humbling  than  any  that  sprung  froin  the  exercise  of  irony. 
It  illustrates  the  impotence  of  the  highest  kind  of  intellec- 
tual wisdom  of  itself  to  produce  perfection  of  character.  Had 
the  philosopher  been  able  to  redeem  society  from  corrup- 
tion, society  had  surely  been  redeemed  long  before  the  days 


THE    NEW    SOCIETY  137 

<>f  Christ,  for  the  intellectual  world  bad  long  sat  at  the  feet 
of  the  philosophers.  And  had  Jesus  offered  the  world  noth- 
ing but  a  Divine  system  of  philosophy,  His  failure  had  not 
been  less  complete  than  theirs.  But  Christ  approached  the 
vast  problem  of  the  regeneration  of  the  world  from  a  totally 
different  standpoint.  The  weapon  which  He  proposed  for 
this  tremendous  task  was  the  power  of  a  new  affection. 

"We  live  by  admiration,  hope  and  love," 

is  a  familiar  line  of  Wordsworth's,  which,  put  into  slightly 
more  definite  language,  means  that  we  are  ruled  by  our  emo- 
tions and  affections.  Christ  proposed  Himself  as  worthy  of 
the  most  sacred  affection  man  could  feel.  Religion  and 
morality,  no  more  divorced,  were  united  and  incarnated  in 
Him.  To  love  Him  therefore  became  synonymous  with  a 
love  of  truth,  virtue,  and  piety ;  and  in  the  degree  that  this 
love  was  sincere  and  deep,  men  became  units  in  a  new  so- 
ciety whose  supreme  aim  was  the  reproduction  of  His  tem- 
per and  His  spirit. 

No  doubt  the  method  which  Christ  thus  deliberately 
adopted  for  the  creation  of  a  new  society  is  surprising,  and 
in  any  other  teacher  it  would  be  both  offensive  and  inade- 
quate. Socrates  would  certainly  have  hesitated  to  suggest 
his  own  life  as  the  pattern  of  universal  life.  Seneca  was  so 
far  from  admitting  such  a  thought  that  he  has  confessed  in 
language  both  pitiable  and  pathetic  that  the  most  he  could 
claim  for  himself  was  that  he  "  wished  to  rise  to  a  loftier 
grade  of  virtue.  But,"  he  added,  "  I  dare  not  hope  it.  I  am 
preoccupied  with  vices.  All  I  require  of  myself  is  not  to  be 
equal  to  the  best,  but  only  to  be  better  than  the  bad."  This 
may  be  the  language  of  undue  self-depreciation,  but  it  is  a 
kind    of  language  well  understood  among  men.     The  best 


138  THE    LIFE    OF    CHRIST 

and  wisest  of  men  will  scarcely  claim  to  be  all  that  he  de- 
sires to  be.  The  purest  of  human  teachers  is  only  too  con- 
scious of  error,  infirmity,  and  fault,  and  this  consciousness  is 
his  torture.  But  Jesus  never  admits  in  Himself  the  ordinary 
weaknesses  of  human  nature.  He  is  bold  enough  to  challenge 
the  Pharisees  to  convict  Him  of  sin.  The  tormenting  dis- 
parity between  an  ideal  of  conduct  and  its  accomplishment, 
common  even  with  the  best  men,  He  never  felt.  His  whole 
nature  was  wrought  into  such  fine  moral  harmony  that  the 
usual  discords  between  faith  and  practice  were  annihilated. 
Alone  among  the  sons  of  men  He  appears  complete  in  vir- 
tue, and  hence  He  alone  can  dare  to  say,  without  fear  of  re- 
buke or  ridicule,  "  Follow  Me." 

If  the  force  of  personal  loyalty  be  deemed  inadequate  for 
the  creation  of  a  new  society,  we  may  well  ask  what  other 
motive  can  be  suggested  as  superior  or  more  practicable  ? 
There  are  two  motives  on  which  men  have  relied,  or  at  least 
have  built  great  hopes,  viz.,  the  love  of  truth  and  the  enthu- 
siasm of  humanity.  But  it  is  obvious  that  neither  of  these 
motives  have  ever  shown  themselves  potent  with  the  mass  of 
humanity.  There  is  nothing  that  the  average  man  holds  in 
greater  scorn  than  abstract  truth,  and  human  selfishness  ef- 
fectually limits  the  action  of  what  is  called  the  enthusiasm  of 
humanity.  Simon  Peter  was  certainly  not  a  lover  of  his 
race  ;  he  was  a  man  full  of  the  bitterest  Jewish  prejudice,  and 
totally  destitute  of  the  enthusiasm  of  humanity.  Nor  was  he 
a  man  enamored  of  abstract  truth  ;  he  was  blunt,  literal,  prac- 
tical, as  little  of  a  philosopher  as  man  could  be.  He  had, 
indeed,  too  little  of  the  philosophic  mind  even  to  appreciate 
or  comprehend  the  surpassing  range  of  thought  which  Christ 
revealed  in  His  public  ministry  and  daily  conversations. 
But  Peter  was  deeply  susceptible  to  fine  emotion,  and  above 
all  to  the  Divine  emotion  of  love.     He  could  make  sacrifices 


THE    NEW   SOCIETY  139 

for  a  person  which  he  would  never  dream  of  making  either 
for  humanity  or  for  an  abstract  truth.  And  in  this  Peter 
fairly  represented  the  general  temper  of  mankind.  The  men 
who  will  suffer  for  an  idea  are  few ;  but  almost  any  man  will 
suffer  for  an  idea  if  that  idea  appeals  to  him  in  the  person  of 
one  whose  grace  and  truth  have  power  to  charm  the  heart- 
It  must  be  remembered,  too,  that  while  the  ancient  philos- 
ophies were  a  kind  of  university  culture  never  intended  to 
appeal  to  any  but  the  select  few,  Jesus  made  His  appeal  to 
all  kinds  and  conditions  of  men.  His  message  was  meant  to 
reach  the  toiler  in  the  fields,  the  fisherman  at  his  nets,  the 
artisan  at  his  bench,  the  beggar  in  his  rags.  Nay,  more  ; 
people  ostracized  as  wholly  bad,  the  pariahs  of  society,  the 
foolish,  the  perverted,  and  the  despised,  the  bandit  and  the 
robber,  the  wayward  daughter  of  pleasure,  the  heavy-eyed 
bond-servant  of  vice — these  also  Avon  His  regard,  and  won  it 
in  especial  measure  by  the  very  sadness  of  their  lot.  It  is 
an  axiom  of  all  true  reform,  that  the  reformer  must  begin 
with  the  very  lowest  strata  of  society  if  he  is  to  succeed  at 
all.  If  the  panacea  which  he  wishes  to  apply  to  society  is 
impotent  to  heal  the  more  degraded  members  of  society,  it 
will  be  impotent  altogether.  It  is  relatively  easy  to  introduce 
a  higher  standard  of  life  and  thought  into  the  more  intelli- 
gent and  delicately  nurtured  classes  of  a  community  ;  but  of 
what  avail  is  this  if  reform  leaves  untouched  the  vicious  and 
the  criminal  classes,  thereby  confessing  its  despair  of  them  ? 
But  what  motive  of  reform  can  be  suggested,  at  once  so  cath- 
olic and  so  potent  that  it  shall  appeal  equally  to  all  classes 
of  a  community  ?  The  reply  of  Jesus  is  love,  and  love  not  so 
much  for  a  Truth  as  for  a  Person.  At  the  call  of  love  men 
and  women  constantly  show  themselves  ready  to  refashion 
their  lives,  to  part  with  habits  as  dear  to  them  as  their  own 
flesh,  to  open  their  hearts  to  an  entirely  novel  set  of  sen- 


140  THE    LIFE    OF   CHRIST 

sations,  to  adopt  a  kind  of  life,  the  very  laws  and  system  of 
winch  have  been  hitherto  unknown  to  them.  If  yon  can 
create  a  noble  attachment  between  a  good  man  and  a  man  far 
from  good,  that  attachment  will  prove  the  salvation  of  the 
Aveaker  man.  The  constant  influence  of  a  high  example  will 
draw  him  upward.  He  will  learn  to  live  his  whole  life  with 
constant  reference  to  the  approval  of  his  friend.  He  will 
wish  to  be  like  him,  and  will  be  able  to  conceive  of  nothing 
better  as  possible  to  him  than  the  attainment  of  such  a  like- 
ness. And  this  motive  has  this  supreme  advantage — that  it 
can  and  does  act  irrespectively  of  all  disparities  of  mind  or 
social  condition.  Intellectual  or  social  equality  is  not  neces- 
sary to  an  adoring  friendship,  since  goodness  and  love  speak 
a  language  of  their  own,  equally  intelligible  to  the  rich  and 
to  the  poor,  the  wise  and  the  ignorant,  the  evil  and  the 
just. 

It  was  beside  the  Sea  of  Galilee  that  this  cosmic  process, 
which  in  time  created  a  new  world,  began  to  declare  itself. 
It  began  with  the  calling  of  the  Apostles,  but  it  soon  ex- 
tended itself  to  a  great  number  of  disciples.  At  a  glance,  at 
a  sign,  at  a  word,  men  forsake  their  habitual  tasks,  renounce 
their  means  of  livelihood,  and  follow  Jesus.  They  know  well 
that  such  an  association  with  Christ  means  hardship,  priva- 
tion, and  every  kind  of  worldly  sacrifice.  They  will  be 
harshly  criticized  in  their  homes,  jeered  at  in  the  streets,  and 
denounced  in  the  synagogues.  Others  will  till  their  fields, 
others  will  seize  with  eagerness  upon  the  business  they  have 
forsaken,  and  they  will  be  effectually  ousted  from  a  place  of 
social  competence  which  they  have  won  by  long,  laborious 
years  of  industry  and  exertion.  But  of  these  things  they  do 
not  so  much  as  think.  The  sons  of  Zebedee  leave  their  fish- 
ing-boat without  a  murmur  ;  Matthew  rises  from  his  desk,  and 
resigns  his  worldly  task  without  a  second  thought.     They 


THE    NEW   SOCIETY  141 

are  supremely  happy ;  they  are  inebriated  with  the  joy  of 
being  with  Jesus.  The}*  ask  nothing  of  the  world,  for  the 
world  has  nothing  left  that  it  can  give  them.  In  many  a 
hamlet  of  the  Galilean  hills  the  strange  conduct  of  some  son 
or  brother  is  discussed  in  sorrow  or  incredulity.  He  has 
gone  a  day's  journey  to  the  Lake,  and  has  not  returned,  but 
surely  he  will  return  to-morrow.  It  can  hardly  be,  except 
upon  the  theory  of  sudden  madness,  that  all  the  things  that 
have  been  most  to  him  in  life  have  ceased  to  interest  him, 
because  a  new  Teacher,  of  whom  many  speak  ill,  has  charmed 
him  by  His  speech.  But  the  morrows  dawn  and  wane,  and 
he  has  not  returned.  News  comes  that  he  has  been  seen 
here  and  there,  footsore  and  weary  it  may  be,  but  none  the 
less  elated  in  his  comradeship  with  Jesus.  The  hearts  that 
ache  for  his  return  slowly  learn  that  Christ  has  suddenly  be- 
come more  to  him  than  father  or  mother,  wife  or  child  or 
kindred.  Vain  for  weary  eyes  of  earthly  love  to  scan  the 
lake  for  the  returning  sail ;  it  comes  not,  and  it  will  come  no 
more.  And  still  beside  this  lake,  where  at  early  dawn  the 
eye  may  recognize  Simon  and  Andrew  his  brother  returning 
from  their  night  of  toil,  and  dragging  the  net  to  land  full  of 
great  fishes  ;  where  dark-eyed  children  such  as  Jesus  blessed 
still  play  upon  the  shore,  and  the  very  silence  of  the  tur- 
quoise waters  and  the  empty  beach,  seems  full  of  mystery — 
still,  beside  this  lake  the  glamor  of  the  Presence  lingers,  the 
voice  of  Him  who  spake  as  never  man  spake  yet  vibrates  on 
the  silence,  and  the  awestruck  heart  feels  that  if  Christ  did 
indeed  repeat  His  call  to-day,  that  call  would  prove  irresisti- 
ble as  of  old,  nor  could  all  the  later  wisdom  of  the  world 
stand  proof  against  its  magic. 

The  society  thus  inaugurated  was  a  real  society,  and 
not  one  in  name  alone.  It  consisted  of  two  circles,  the  apos- 
tles and  the  disciples.     In  the  first  circle  the  traces  of  delib- 


142  THE    LIFE    OF   CHRIST 

erate  organization  are  clear  and  definite.  Its  basis  was 
communistic  and  benevolent.  A  common  purse  provided  for 
the  simple  needs  of  the  brotherhood,  and  the  governing 
principle  of  the  common  life  was  the  service  of  humanity. 
There  was  thus  presented  to  the  world  the  new  and  admir- 
able spectacle  of  a  company  of  men  entirely  freed  from 
worldly  aims,  reconciled  to  poverty  and  hardship,  animated 
by  a  common  confidence  and  joy,  and  employed  in  tasks 
which  added  to  the  store  of  human  happiness.  If  the  wider 
circle  of  the  disciples  was  not  in  like  manner  wholly  separ- 
ated from  worldly  life,  yet  it  was  governed  by  the  same 
spirit.  The  disciple  as  well  as  the  apostle  called  Christ 
Master,  and  was  prepared  to  set  aside  all  earthly  claims  for 
His  sake.  A  cold  wisdom  may  find  much  fault  with  such 
a  scheme  of  action,  and  may  ask  what  justification  can  be 
offered  for  the  wholesale  breaking  of  those  ties,  and  the  re- 
nunciation of  those  duties  and  obligations  by  virtue  of 
which  civil  society  exists  ?  But  the  more  pregnant  aspect  of 
the  case  is  that  the  new  society  thus  formed  was  the  embryo 
of  the  Christian  Church.  These  men  and  women,  in  setting 
aside  all  earthly  obligations  in  order  to  serve  Christ,  affirmed 
the  vital  principle,  that  henceforth  in  the  very  centre  of  the 
world's  life  there  was  implanted  another  life,  full  of  new  re- 
lationships, claiming  precedence  over  all  existing  laws,  and 
linked  together  by  adoring  loyalty  to  Christ.  And  incredible 
as  it  seemed  that  such  a  society  should  last,  yet  it  has  lasted 
even  to  the  present  day.  Throughout  the  centuries,  and 
even  in  the  periods  of  the  greatest  laxity  and  corruption,  the 
Church  of  Christ  has  never  failed  to  attract  to  itself  men  and 
women  who  have  sacrificed  all  worldly  hopes  for  Christ's 
sake,  without  a  single  pang  of  self-pity.  They  have  held  the 
prizes  of  life  but  dross  for  Christ's  sake,  as  Paul  did.  They 
have  found  their  deepest  joy  in  friendship  with  people  not  of 


THE    NEW   SOCIETY  143 

their  kin,  not  their  equals  either  in  social  condition  or  in  in- 
tellect, who  nevertheless  were  dear  to  them  because  they 
shared  a  common  sentiment  toward  Christ.  They  have  even 
gone  to  the  ends  of  the  earth  to  impart  to  peoples  naturally 
repulsive  and  unnaturally  degraded,  the  sentiment  of  love 
for  Christ  which  they  themselves  felt,  and  they  have  died  as 
martyrs  sustained  only  by  the  ecstacy  of  that  love.  The  New 
Society  which  Christ  inaugurated  has  proved  itself  capable 
of  prolonged  life — or  rather,  we  should  say,  incapable  of 
death ;  and  the  principle  of  adoring  loyalty  to  Himself  from 
which  it  sprang  has  proved  itself  more  efficacious  in  the  re- 
newal of  mankind  than  all  the  wisdom  of  the  world's 
philosophies. 

One  other  feature  of  this  movement  must  be  noticed,  be- 
cause without  it  the  whole  movement  would  be  unintelligible. 
It  is  not  in  human  nature  to  follow  an  example  of  impossi- 
ble perfection.  Some  belief  in  one's  self,  or  at  least  in 
human  nature  as  a  whole,  is  needed  before  any  strenuous 
effort  can  be  made  to  attain  superior  virtue.  Jesus  took 
pains  to  affirm  His  faith  in  the  perfectibility  of  human 
nature.  If  He  revealed  Himself  as  perfect,  it  was  to  show 
men  the  way  of  perfection.  He  deliberately  counselled  men 
to  be  perfect  "  even  as  your  Father  in  heaven  is  perfect,"  an 
impossible  command  unless  we  recollect  that  perfection  is  a 
matter  of  degree,  and  that  the  lily  may  be  as  perfect  in  its 
fine  adjustments  as  the  oak,  the  dewdrop  as  fair  and  exqui- 
site a  miracle  as  the  star.  If  Jesus  presented  the  spectacle 
of  a  unique  perfection,  yet  after  all  the  constituent  elements 
of  that  perfection  were  elements  found  in  human  nature  it- 
self. When  a  great  musician  like  Dvorak  writes  his  "  Sym- 
phony to  the  New  World,"  he  is  not  ashamed  to  take  famil- 
iar melodies,  and  even  negro  songs  as  the  basis  of  his 
music ;  but  he  uses  them  with  such  breadth  and  mastery 


144  THE   LIFE    OF   CHRIST 

that  they  attain  a  dignity  altogether  unsuspected.  Even  so 
Christ  used  the  common  strings  of  human  nature,  but 
touched  them  with  a  master's  hand.  Divine  as  was  the 
music  which  fell  upon  men's  ears,  yet  there  ran  through  it 
familiar  notes,  the  golden  threads  of  common  melody,  old  and 
sweet  as  human  love,  and  faith,  and  hope  themselves.  Thus 
men  saw  in  Christ  themselves  as  they  might  be.  He  was 
man  in  His  apotheosis,  but  still  man.  His  faith  in  human 
nature  was  so  great  that  He  spoke  of  Himself  as  an  Exam- 
ple, and  taught  men  to  hope  that  they  might  attain  to  the 
mind  that  was  in  Him,  and  hereafter  be  for  ever  where  He 
was.  Adoration  in  itself  would  have  had  no  permanent  up- 
lifting power ;  adoration  joined  with  endeavor  and  with  hope 
is  the  mightiest  of  all  forces  in  the  growth  of  character ;  and 
the  redemption  which  Christ  achieved  for  man  is  the  achieve- 
ment of  a  new  hope  and  endeavor  kindled  in  man's  own 
bosom,  and  fed  by  adoring  love. 


CHAPTER  XI 

ONE  OF  THE  DAYS  OF  THE  SON  OF  MAN 

An  ordinary  biography  seldom  attempts  more  than  the 
general  description  of  the  thoughts  and  purposes  of  a  human 
life.  An  exact  diary  is  wanting,  for  there  are  few  lives  that 
can  endure  the  test  of  a  faithful  diary.  Such  a  record  soon 
becomes  a  wearisome  and  ungrateful  task,  and  a  sense  of 
triviality  weighs  upon  the  mind.  But  the  life  of  the  Son  of 
Man  contains  a  long  series  of  events,  each  one  of  which  is  of 
undying  interest  to  humanity.  The  diary  of  that  life  con- 
tains nothing  trivial,  insignificant,  or  unworthy.  The  days 
of  the  Son  of  Man  are  revelations  and  epitomes :  revelations 
of  what  human  life  can  be  in  its  highest  dignity  and  grace  ; 
epitomes  of  the  kind  of  thoughts,  tempers,  and  acts  which 
make  human  life  Divine. 

The  story  of  a  single  day  in  a  memorable  life,  if  faithfully 
told,  would  certainly  do  more  to  explain  that  life  than  any 
general  description  of  its  progress.  Can  we  discover  in  the 
Gospels  any  such  specimen  days  in  the  life  of  Jesus  ?  The 
looseness  of  the  Gospel  chronology ,  the  Gospels  being,  as  we 
have  seen,  rather  the  scattered  memorabilia  of  Christ,  drawn 
from  many  sources,  than  detailed  monographs  upon  the  life 
of  Christ,  render  such  a  task  difficult.  Nevertheless,  on  two 
occasions  in  St.  Matthew's  Gospel  we  have  what  purports 
to  be  the  diary  of  a  single  day.  One  is  a  day  devoted  to 
public  instruction,  the  other  a  day  devoted  to  philanthropic 
toil.  Let  us  follow  Christ  through  these  two  days  of  His 
earthly  life.  In  doing  so  we  shall  perhaps  obtain  a  clearer 
10  145 


146  THE    LIFE    OF   CHRIST 

picture  of  what  that  public  life  was  like,  what  were  its 
duties,  its  toils,  aud  its  triumphs,  than  is  possible  in  any 
general  study  of  the  Gospels. 

In  the  thirteenth  chapter  of  St.  Matthew's  Gospel  we  have 
what  purports  to  be  the  story  of  a  single  day  of  public  in- 
struction beside  the  Lake  of  Galilee.  No  fewer  than  seven 
of  the  most  striking  parables  of  Christ  are  included  in  the 
teaching  of  this  single  day.  St.  Mark,  in  narrating  the 
teaching  of  this  same  memorable  day,  even  adds  another 
parable,  and  concludes  with  an  account  of  the  storm  on  the 
lake  which  subsided  at  the  word  of  Christ.  It  is  extremely 
improbable  that  all  these  great  parables  were  uttered  on  the 
same  day.  It  is  far  more  likely  that  they  represent  a 
course  of  teaching  beside  the  lake.  The  common  ethical 
idea,  which  gives  a  certain  unity  to  these  seven  parables  of 
the  sower,  of  the  wheat  and  tares,  of  the  grain  of  mustard- 
seed,  of  the  leaven,  of  the  hid  treasure,  the  pearls  and  the 
fisherman's  net,  would  naturally  suggest  their  association  in 
a  single  category.  The  memory  of  one  hearer,  or  group  of 
hearers,  would  supply  one  parable;  other  hearers  would 
supply  other  parables ;  and  it  would  seem  to  no  one  an  out- 
rage of  historic  truth  that  these  teachings,  so  similar  in  form 
and  spirit,  should  be  represented  as  the  sections  of  one  con- 
tinuous discourse.  If  the  Gospels  are,  as  we  suppose  them, 
the  recollections  of  many  minds  compiled  by  writers  eager 
to  secure  information  from  any  source  that  seemed  authentic, 
it  would  undoubtedly  appear  to  such  writers  a  convenient 
and  harmless  device  to  group  together,  as  apparently  the 
teachings  of  a  single  day,  parables  which  are  strikingly  alike 
in  spirit  and  design,  and  which  were  certainly  uttered  in  the 
same  place  and  to  the  same  audience  of  Galileans. 

But  however  we  may  determine  this  question  of  literary 
criticism,  the  thirteenth  chapter  of  St.  Matthew's  Gospel  does 


A  DAY  IN  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST    147 

unquestionably  give  us  a  singularly  vivid  picture  of  a  day  in 
Christ's  life,  and  of  the  method  of  His  teaching.  Christ  was 
at  this  time  the  guest  of  one  of  His  adoring  friends  in  Ca- 
pernaum, perhaps  of  Simon  Peter,  or  of  Chuza,  the  steward 
of  Herod,  whose  wife  Joanna  we  have  mentioned  already  as 
one  of  that  loyal  band  of  women  who  were  among  His  earliest 
adherents,  and  "ministered  unto  Him  of  their  substance." 
In  the  East  the  business  of  the  day  begins  at  sunrise,  and 
with  the  first  light  of  day  Jesus  would  rise  and  seek  the 
shores  of  the  lake  He  always  loved.  In  those  meditative 
hours  when  the  spirit  of  poetry  is  abroad,  and  the  world, 
bathed  in  dew  and  sunlight,  seems  new  created,  His  mind 
received  those  images  and  formulated  those  ideas  which  lent 
such  lyric  charm  to  the  teachings  of  the  day.  The  fisher- 
man, returning  from  his  night  of  toil,  discerned  that  solitary 
figure  on  the  bench,  and  little  knew  that  while  he  drew  his 
nets  to  land  he  was  furnishing  the  watchful  eye  of  Jesus 
with  immortal  images  which  were  destined  to  delight  the 
world  through  many  generations.  The  sower  or  the  plough- 
man, laboring  on  the  fragrant  furrow,  knew  not  that  in  the 
rude  simplicity  of  his  rustic  toil  were  hidden  metaphors  and 
pictures  through  which  the  eternal  ideas  of  human  piety  and 
truth  were  to  find  interpretation.  Nature,  equally  uncon- 
scious of  her  office,  in  these  hours  was  also  contributing  her 
wisdom  to  the  mind  of  Jesus.  The  purple  anemone,  which 
gave  the  fields  the  aspect  of  some  intricately  patterned  Per- 
sian carpet,  suggested  to  Him  the  exquisite  comparison  be- 
tween the  raiment  of  the  lily,  woven  on  the  looms  of  God, 
and  the  artificial  glories  of  Solomon.  The  nesting  birds, 
happy  in  their  frugal  life,  pointed  the  contrast  with  the  un- 
easy, vain,  and  careworn  life  of  man.  The  wide  simplicity 
and  restfulness  of  that  bright  morning  world  breathed  the 
eternal  question,  old  as  human  thought,  and  often  asked  with 


148  THE   LIFE    OF   CHRIST 

a  sense  of  torture  and  despair  by  those  who  chafe  beneath 
the  burden  of  existence, 

"  And  what  is  life  that  we  should  moan, 
Why  make  us  such  ado  ?  " 

Presently  the  spell  is  broken  and  the  sacramental  hour  of 
thought  is   at  an  end.     From   Capernaum  itself,  and  from 
many  a  neighboring  town  and  village,  throngs  of  folk  ap- 
proach, disrespectful  of  the  privacy  of  Christ,  in  the  urgent 
need  they  have  for  such  gifts  as  He  can  give  them.     In  the 
crowd  are  aged  men,  the  weight  of  whose  infirmities  seems 
dissolved  in  the  rapture  of  a  novel  happiness  ;  blind  men,  led 
by  expectant  friends  and  relatives  ;  sick  men,  carried  on  their 
beds  or  sleeping  carpets ;  women,  dressed  in  the  traditional 
robes   of  blue  and   white,  bearing  children  in  their  arms ; 
Pharisees  with  their  broad  phylacteries  bound  on  arm  and 
forehead ;    perhaps    a    passing   patrician    of   Herod's  court 
clothed  in  purple,  or  a  group  of  merchants,  mounted  on  their 
silent  camels,  stained  with  travel ;  and  certainly,  on  the  fringe 
of  the  increasing  crowd,  conscious  of  their  dreadful  mutila- 
tions and  their  outcast  shame,  lepers,  with  half-covered  faces, 
uttering  their  miserable  complaint,  "  Unclean,  unclean."     The 
enthusiasm    of   this    motley    crowd  is   extraordinary.     The 
women  even  thrust  their  children  forward  to  the  knees  of 
Jesus  that  He  may  bless  them.     And  already  nearing  sails 
upon  the  lake  announce  other  visitors  from  Tiberias  or  the 
wild  shores  of  the  country  of  the  Gadarenes ;  and,  hidden 
by  the  folding  of  the  hills,  groups  of  pilgrims  hasten  down 
the  long  descent  of  the  road  that  joins  Cana  and  Nazareth 
with  Galilee.     Pressed  upon  by  the  tumultuous  crowd,  Jesus 
retires  upon  the  lake.     A  friendly  fisherman  beckons  Him  to 
his  boat,  and  He  enters  it  and  sits  down  to  teach  the  multi- 
tude that  now  throngs  the  shore.     To  this  strange  congrega- 


A  DAY  IN  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST    119 

tion  Christ  speaks  in  language  entirely  adapted  to  their 
needs.  With  an  infinite  condescension,  with  what  proves  an 
infinite  wisdom  too,  He  speakes  in  parables  which  the 
youngest  or  least  keen  of  wit  can  understand.  Small  won- 
der that  these  sayings  of  His  were  remembered  with  a  per- 
fect accuracy ;  they  were  indissolubly  linked  with  images  at 
once  simple  and  familiar.  There  was  no  one  in  all  this 
various  crowd  who  had  not  seen  the  things  of  which  He 
spake ;  nay,  in  the  unchanging  East,  where,  as  by  the  touch 
of  a  magician's  wand,  life  has  stood  arrested  for  two  thou- 
sand years,  he  who  wanders  through  the  places  Jesus  trod 
may  still  discern  the  very  things  He  saw.  They  saw,  as  we 
still  see,  on  these  Galilean  hills,  the  shepherd  dividing  the 
sheep  from  the  goats  at  sunset ;  the  sudden  rain-storm  flood- 
ing the  narrow  gorge  with  a  torrent,  which  in  a  moment 
sweeps  away  the  house  that  stands  upon  the  sand ;  the 
plougher  who,  with  his  hand  ujion  the  plough,  dares  not 
look  back,  because  he  has  but  one  hand  to  guide  the  cum- 
brous implement,  while  the  other  holds  the  ox-goad,  or  the 
"  prick,"  against  which  the  impatient  beast  kicks  in  vain ;  the 
birds  of  the  air,  even  then  devouring  the  good  seed  behind 
the  sower's  basket,  or  the  tares  mingling  with  wheat,  or  the 
new  corn  already  burnt  up  by  the  sun  that  beats  upon  the 
shallow  soil.  Not  only  Nature  but  the  crowd  itself  furnished 
Christ  with  parables ;  for  the  grave  merchant  on  his  camel 
had  the  pearls  of  price  concealed  within  his  bosom ;  and  the 
net  which  gathered  every  kind  of  fish,  both  good  and  bad, 
lay  upon  the  shore.  So  He  talked  with  them,  and  the  long 
day  was  but  as  one  delightful  moment  to  the  listeners. 
Then,  as  night  falls,  the  boat  hoists  its  sail  and  stands  out 
into  the  lake ;  and  He,  wearied  with  His  toil,  falls  asleej) 
upon  a  pillow  which  some  kind  hand  has  placed  for  Him  in 
the  "  hinder  part "  of  the  little  ship. 


150  THE    LIFE    OF   CHRIST 

Such  is  the  picture  of  a  day  in  the  life  of  Christ  which 
was  devoted  to  the  work  of  public  teaching :  "  One  of  the 
days  of  the  Son  of  Man." 

If,  however,  we  turn  to  an  earlier  chapter  of  St.  Matthew's 
Gospel — the  ninth — we  find  from  the  first  to  the  twenty-sixth 
verses  an  account  of  a  day  in  Christ's  life  much  more  varied, 
and  even  more  impressive  in  the  sense  it  gives  us  of  the  in- 
tense and  yet  deliberate  energy  with  which  He  lived.  Among 
many  things  in  Christ's  mode  of  thought  strikingly  at  vari- 
ance with  ordinary  Oriental  ideas  is  His  habitual  conception 
of  life  as  labor  and  endeavor.  He  speaks  of  work  as  com- 
posing the  rhythm  of  the  universe  :  "  My  Father  works,  and 
I  work."  He  describes  Himself  as  working  while  it  is  tor 
day  because  the  night  comes  when  men  cannot  work,  and 
counsels  His  disciples  to  live  in  the  same  strenuous  spirit. 
He  speaks  in  yet  intenser  language  of  Himself  as  straitened 
till  His  work  is  accomplished.  And  in  one  of  His  most 
memorable  parables,  that  of  the  laborers  in  the  vineyard, 
He  composes  what  is  really  a  noble  idyll  and  encomium  of 
work,  blaming  men  for  the  niggard  spirit  which  takes  work 
only  as  a  means  of  material  reward,  instead  of  rejoicing  in  a 
love  of  work  for  its  own  sake.  This  conception  of  the  dig- 
nity of  work  is  quite  at  variance  with  the  common  languor  of 
Oriental  thought  and  life.  In  lands  of  great  fertility,  blessed 
with  abundant  sunlight,  work  really  occupies  but  a  small 
part  of  daily  life.  In  such  lands  the  ordinary  needs  of  life 
are  soon  and  easily  satisfied,  and  hence,  if  the  Oriental  has 
always  been  a  dreamer  it  is  because  the  nature  of  his  life  af- 
fords him  ample  time  for  reverie.  But  the  life  of  Christ  is 
in  striking  contradiction  to  the  habits  of  His  countrymen. 
It  is  a  continuous  expenditure  of  energy,  "  unresting  and  un- 
hasting."  It  leaves  one  breathless  with  the  sense  of  multi- 
plied and  various  interests,  which  made  one  day  in  such  a 


A  DAY  IN  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST    151 

life  more  than  a  year  in  the  lives  of  ordinary  men.  St.  Mat- 
thew gives  ns  the  record  of  such  a  day,  and  in  this  case 
we  cannot  doubt  that  the  incidents  which  he  enumerates 
really  happened  in  a  single  day.  We  cannot  doubt  for  this 
most  excellent  of  reasons,  that  the  day  was  the  most 
memorable  of  all  the  days  in  Matthew's  own  life,  for  it  was 
on  that  day  that  he  received  his  call  to  the  apostleship. 
Here,  then,  is  an  absolutely  truthful  and  minute  record  of  a 
series  of  events,  each  one  of  which  must  have  made  a  deep 
impression  on  the  mind  of  the  narrator,  because  they  were 
for  him  an  amazing  introduction  to  a  new  and  unexampled 
kind  of  life. 

Let  us  follow  this  daj  in  the  life  of  Jesus ;  it  may  serve 
as  "an  epitome  of  the  entire  Galilean  ministry. 

It  begins,  as  usual,  with  the  earliest  light,  when  Jesus, 
practically  expelled  from  the  country  of  the  Gadarenes, 
where  His  presence  has  excited  panic  and  dismay,  "  enters 
into  a  ship  and  passes  over,  and  comes  into  his  own  city  "  of 
Capernaum.  He  immediately  goes  to  the  house  of  one  of 
His  friends,  and  the  circumstance  that  on  this  occasion  He 
appears  to  have  taught  in  the  house  rather  than  by  the  lake- 
side, may  perhaps  indicate  that  it  was  the  winter  season. 
His  arrival  was  not  unexpected.  Various  doctors  of  the  law 
and  Pharisees  "  out  of  every  town  of  Galilee,  and  Judea,  and 
Jerusalem,"  had  already  assembled  in  the  hope  of  hearing 
Him.  The  scene  may  be  pictured  thus  :  The  house  in  which 
He  taught  was  the  residence  of  some  one  of  superior  social 
station ;  possibly  of  Chuza,  the  steward  of  Herod.  It  was  a 
square  structure,  with  a  flat  roof  protected  by  a  battlement, 
containing  a  court}'ard,  round  which  ran  a  covered  gallery, 
from  which  the  various  upper  rooms  opened.  This  gallery, 
lit  by  the  mild  winter's  sunshine,  was  the  pleasantest  place 
in  the  house,  and  it  was  here  that  Christ  sat  to  address  the 


152  THE    LIFE    OF   CHRIST 

audience  which  already  thronged  the  courtyard  below  to  suf- 
focation. At  His  side,  or  in  one  of  the  upper  rooms,  con- 
tiguous to  the  covered  gallery,  sat  the  Pharisees  and  doctors 
of  the  law,  eager  and  critical  of  all  He  said.  Suddenly  His 
discourse  is  interrupted  by  a  terrible  commotion  at  the  gate- 
way of  the  courtyard.  A  group  of  people,  bearing  a  para- 
lytic man  upon  his  pallet,  or  some  roughly  extemporized 
stretcher,  is  endeavoring  to  force  a  way  into  the  densely 
crowded  courtyard.  This  proves  impossible,  and  when  the 
tumult  has  subsided  Jesus  continues  His  discourse.  But 
these  eager  friends  of  the  suffering  and  helpless  man  are  not 
so  easily  discouraged.  Every  Eastern  house  has  an  outside 
staircase  leading  to  the  roof,  and  it  soon  appears  that  the 
custodians  of  the  paralytic,  repulsed  at  the  gateway  of  the 
courtyard,  are  ascending  the  stairway  to  the  roof.  It  is  a 
matter  of  a  few  moments  only  to  remove  the  tiles  from  the 
roofing  of  the  gallery,  and  through  the  opening  thus  made 
there  presently  appears  the  dreadful  spectacle  of  the  para- 
lytic, slowly  lowered  on  his  pallet  to  the  very  feet  of  Jesus. 
Jesus  is  much  moved  by  the  faith  and  enterprise  which  thus 
disregards  every  obstacle  in  order  to  reach  Him,  and  with  a 
word  He  heals  the  man.  This  healing  act  is  performed  be- 
neath a  multitude  of  curious  eyes ;  it  is  unquestionably  suc- 
cessful. The  man  who  a  moment  before  was  incapable  of 
the  least  movement,  takes  up  his  bed  and  walks. 

This  miracle  of  healing  is  related  by  three  of  the  Evan- 
gelists, from  which  we  may  judge  that  it  made  a  deep  im- 
pression on  those  who  witnessed  it,  and  was  regarded  by  the 
Evangelists  themselves  as  typical.  Typical  it  certainly  was 
of  the  pure  and  catholic  humanity  of  Christ,  for  there  was 
nothing  in  this  palsied  man  to  distinguish  him  from  a  mul- 
titude of  fellow-sufferers,  and  nothing  in  his  subsequent 
career,  so  far  as  we  know,  to  justify  a  Divine  interposition 


A  DAY  IN  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST    153 

on  his  behalf.  We  are  accustomed,  in  noticing  the  extraor- 
dinary turns  of  events  by  which  great  men  became  what  they 
were,  to  think  that  at  least  it  is  not  incredible  that  God 
should  make  His  will  manifest  in  episodes  of  action  and  ex- 
perience which  were  fruitful  of  good  for  the  entire  human 
race.  If  we  may  say  it  with  reverence,  may  we  not  conclude 
that  it  was  worth  God's  while  to  interfere  with  the  placid 
normal  course  of  human  life  in  the  vision  that  made  Saul  of 
Tarsus  an  apostle,  or  in  the  thunderstorm  which  made 
Luther  a  reformer?  But  this  is,  after  all,  to  assume  that 
God  is  a  respecter  of  persons.  Christ,  in  establishing  a  re- 
ligion of  humanity,  taught  an  entirely  contrary  view  of  God's 
relations  to  man.  God's  method  of  saving  the  world  is  not 
a  method  which  saves  first  the  best  and  cleverest  people,  but 
the  ignorant  equally  with  the  clever,  the  humblest  equally 
with  the  highest.  In  one  of  His  most  famous  parables 
Christ  pushed  this  truth  to  an  extreme  point  when  He  taught 
that  it  Avas  the  duty  of  the  man  who  gave  a  feast  to  invite 
the  poor,  the  maimed,  the  halt,  and  the  blind  before  all  other 
persons,  for  the  strange  reason  that  they  could  not  recom- 
pense him.  But  strange  as  the  counsel  seems,  yet  it  is  a 
definition  of  Christ's  own  spirit.  That  spirit  is  admirably 
shown  in  this  act  which  heals  a  man  who  cannot  recompense 
Him  by  the  genius  that  sets  the  world  aflame,  or  even  by  the 
social  influence  that  gives  Sclat  to  His  ministry — a  man 
wholly  poor  and  inconsiderable  who  can  requite  his  Healer 
with  nothing  but  gratitude. 

This  humane  act  was  not  completed  without  controversy. 
Christ's  address  to  the  man  is  couched  in  extraordinary  lan- 
guage. He  practically  treats  the  man's  infirmity  and  his  sin 
as  one,  and  even  hints  that  his  infirmity  may  have  had  its 
root  in  sin.  This  should  scarcely  have  astonished  the  Phar- 
isees and  doctors  of  the  law,  for  it  was  a  view  of  human  suf- 


154  THE    LIFE    OF   CHRIST 

fering  peculiarly  Jewish.  Without  attempting  to  discuss  a 
question  so  abstruse,  we  can  scarcely  doubt  that  spiritual 
and  physical  malady  are  often  more  closely  allied  than  we 
suspect.  Few  men  who  have  ever  studied  life  with  a  physi- 
cian's eye  would  dispute  that  the  morbidly  delicate  nervous 
system  not  seldom  owes  something  to  the  follies  and  indis- 
cretions of  youth ;  that  half  the  diseases  to  which  flesh  is 
heir  arise  from  some  direct  contravention  of  natural  laws ; 
that  sickness  is  often  the  account  that  Nature  sends  to  a 
debtor  who  has  wasted  his  substance  in  riotous  living ;  and 
perhaps,  if  the  physician  dared  to  speak  the  whole  unpalat- 
able truth  to  his  patient,  he  would  say,  "  It  is  not  medicine 
you  want,  but  a  new  conception  of  life,  the  freedom  from  un- 
natural strain,  the  conquest  of  unruly  appetite."  But  it  is 
one  thing  to  hold  a  theory,  another  thing  to  see  it  pushed  to 
its  logical  result.  A  theory  so  treated  has  often  the  effect  of 
irony.  When  Christ  asks,  "  Whether  is  it  easier  to  say,  Thy 
sins  be  forgiven  thee ;  or  to  say,  Arise  and  walk?  "  the  Phar- 
isees feel  that  He  is  being  ironical  at  their  expense,  and  the 
last  thing  a  pedant  can  forgive  is  irony.  Thus  the  first  act 
in  this  memorable  day  is  to  provoke  in  many  minds  that 
spirit  of  envenomed  controversy,  which,  slowly  gathering 
force,  was  destined  finally  to  plan  and  execute  the  tragedy 
of  Calvary. 

This  was  the  event  of  the  early  morning ;  the  programme 
of  the  day  was  far  from  finished.  The  assembly  in  the  house 
of  Chuza  breaks  up  in  something  like  tumult  and  certainly 
in  discord.  As  Christ  leaves  the  house  He  sees  Matthew 
sitting  at  the  seat  of  custom,  and  summons  him  to  the  apos- 
tleship.  Matthew  had,  perhaps,  witnessed  the  healing  of  the 
paralytic,  and  had  gone  back  to  his  business  deeply  thrilled 
by  what  he  saw.  How  poor  and  mean  his  occupation  must 
have  seemed  when  such  marvels  were  happening  at  his  door : 


A  DAY  IN  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST    155 

what  wonder  that  he  feels  the  call  of  Christ  an  honor,  and 
instantly  obeys !  In  his  gratitude  he  at  once  makes  a  feast, 
and  invites  Christ  to  be  his  guest.  To  his  table  that  day 
there  naturally  crowded  many  of  his  personal  friends,  en- 
gaged like  himself  in  the  work  of  tax-gathering,  and  "  the 
publicans  and  sinners  "  sat  down  to  meat  with  Jesus  and  His 
disciples.  This  promiscuity  was  deeply  offensive  to  such  of 
the  Pharisees  as  had  followed  Christ  to  Matthew's  house. 
Forgetting  that  they  also  were  guests,  they  ask  with  an  un- 
pardonable rudeness,  "  Why  eateth  your  Master  with  pub- 
licans and  sinners  ?  "  Christ's  reply  is  a  touching  and  dig- 
nified exposition  of  His  whole  ministry.  He  reminds  them 
of  what  had  already  come  to  be  a  cardinal  principle  in  His 
ministry,  that  He  went  first  not  to  those  who  needed  Him, 
but  to  those  who  needed  Him  most.  He  was  like  an  honest 
physician  who  went  not  to  those  who  were  whole,  but  to  those 
who  were  sick.  Some  of  John's  disciples,  who  appear  to 
have  been  present,  shocked  perhaps  by  the  prodigality  and 
joyousness  of  the  feast,  interpose  with  a  question  about  fast- 
ing. Christ  replies  with  another  question,  "  How  should  the 
children  of  the  Bride-chamber  fast  while  the  Bridegroom  is 
with  them  ?  "  He  affirms  once  more  the  joyousness  of  His 
ministry,  and  its  complete  emancipation  from  ascetic  scruples. 
He  does  more — He  defines  it  as  something  Divinely  new, 
which  has  no  need  for  Jewish  sanctions,  and  cannot  be  joined 
to  the  frayed,  worn-out  fabric  of  Jewish  tradition.  "  No  man 
putteth  a  piece  of  new  cloth  unto  an  old  garment,  for  that 
which  is  put  in  to  fill  it  up  taketh  from  the  garment,  and  the 
rent  is  made  worse."  Then  once  more  the  course  of  teach- 
ing is  interrupted  by  one  of  those  appeals  to  His  pity  which 
Christ  never  disregarded.  A  certain  ruler,  crushed  with  sor- 
row, fresh  from  the  chamber  of  mortality,  importunes  Him 
in  language  in  which  faith  surely  touches  its  noblest  climax 


156  THE    LIFE    OF   CHRIST 

— "My  daughter  is  eveu  now  dead,  but  come  and  lay  Thy 
hand  upon  her  and  she  shall  live."  And  Jesus  arose  and 
followed  hiin,  and  so  did  His  disciples. 

And  now  once  more  an  extraordinary  scene  unfolds  itself. 
Through  the  narrow  streets  of  Capernaum  the  whole  con- 
course pours  to  the  house  of  the  afflicted  ruler.  Even  as  it 
passes  wonders  happen.  A  poor  woman,  wrought  into  an 
ecstasy  of  faith,  touches  the  hem  of  Christ's  garment  in  the 
throng,  and  is  made  whole.  The  evening  is  now  falling.  At 
the  door  of  the  ruler's  house  the  paid  mourners  are  assem- 
bled, chanting  the  beauty  or  grace  of  the  dead  child  in  a 
melancholy  pa?an ;  the  flute-players  pour  shrill  music  on  the 
evening  air ;  within  the  house,  amid  tears  not  mercenary  but 
real,  already  the  body  of  the  child  is  washed  and  anointed, 
and  wrapped  in  the  finest  linen  for  the  last  journey  to  what 
the  Hebrew  exquisitely  described  as,  "  The  house  of  meet- 
ing," or  "  The  field  of  weepers."  To  this  crowd  of  mourners 
Christ  addresses  one  word — "The  maid  is  not  dead,  but 
sleepeth."  "Whether  the  child  was  indeed  dead  as  the  father 
supposed,  or  asleep  in  some  deep  trance  which  simulated 
death,  as  the  words  of  Jesus  would  certainly  imply,  is  a 
question  that  need  not  be  discussed.  The  beauty  of  the 
scene  is  not  in  the  restoration  of  the  child,  but  in  the  pity 
and  lmnianitjr  of  Christ.  Upon  the  bed  of  death  the  fair 
child  lies,  with  folded  hands :  Christ  unlocks  these  rigid 
palms,  and  takes  her  by  the  hand,  and  calls  upon  her  to 
arise ;  and  behold  the  closed  lids  lift,  the  eyes  are  fixed  on 
Him  in  a  glance  of  happy  awe ;  and,  fresh  and  composed  as 
one  awakened  from  a  wholesome  slumber,  the  child  arises,  in 
all  the  glow  of  youth  and  health. 

With  this  act  the  day  closes ;  for  the  further  incidents  re- 
lated in  this  chapter  cannot  be  definitely  identified  as  hap- 
pening on  this  day  of  Matthew's  call.     But  how  wonderful 


A  DAY  IN  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST    157 

is  the  impression  of  benignant  energy  produced  by  the  mere 
recital  of  these  events !  Within  the  brief  compass  of  a  win- 
ter's day  we  have  three  gracious  deeds  of  healing  :  two  acute 
controversies,  first  with  the  Pharisees  and  then  with  John's 
disciples,  each  in  turn  producing  expositions  of  Christ's 
thought  of  the  highest  value  and  significance  ;  and  finally  we 
have  an  act  involving  the  gravest  of  responsibilities,  the 
choice  of  an  apostle.  Not  one  selfish  thought  or  act  intruded 
on  it ;  it  was  a  day  lived  utterly  for  others.  Nor  was  it  a  day 
apart ;  save  in  its  close  sequence  of  miraculous  acts,  it  is 
but  a  sample  day  in  the  working  life  of  Christ.  Perhaps  we 
should  not  even  treat  it  as  exceptional  in  respect  of  miracles. 
If  we  are  prepared  to  trust  the  Gospel  records  at  all,  we  can- 
not but  perceive  that  the  unreported  life  of  Christ  must  have 
been  even  more  crowded  with  acts  of  healing  than  the  re- 
ported. "  When  the  even  was  come,"  says  St.  Matthew — it 
was  an  evening  in  this  same  town  of  Capernaum — "they 
brought  unto  Him  many  that  were  possessed  with  devils,  and 
He  cast  out  the  spirits  with  His  word,  and  healed  all  that 
were  sick."  What  a  life  of  strain  and  infinite  activity  was 
this,  which  found  itself  always  in  contact  with  human  mis- 
ery, always  ready  to  respond  to  the  instinct  of  pity,  and  amid 
these  toils  of  an  infinite  benignity  still  able  to  conduct  a  hun- 
dred controversies  and  to  enunciate  supreme  truths,  for  the 
discovery  of  one  of  which  an  ancient  sage  would  have  counted 
an  entire  life  of  meditation  an  easy  price.  But  such  was  the 
daily  life  of  Christ,  and  it  is  small  wonder  that  those  who 
can  reflect  on  these  things  see  on  these  illumined  shores  and 
fields  of  Galilee  the  footprints  of  One  whom  they  must  needs 
call  Divine.  All  questions  of  what  may  justly  constitute  a 
miracle  fade  before  such  a  vision ;  the  true  and  ever-living 
miracle  is  the  Divine  Benignity  of  Christ. 


CHAPTEK  XII 

THE    PRIVATE   LIFE    OF   JESUS 

In  the  meantime,  amid  this  constant  stress  of  public  work, 
there  was  a  private  life  of  Jesus,  which  was  lived  apart  from 
the  world  and  was  uninvaded  by  its  tumults.  Completely  as 
Christ  lived  for  others,  yet  He  reserved  those  rights  in  Him- 
self, which  are  among  the  most  sacred  and  important  since 
they  guard  the  secret  and  guarantee  the  growth  of  person- 
ality. He  often  sought  to  be  alone.  He  sometimes  fled  from 
the  multitude  He  had  attracted.  The  company  of  His  disci- 
ples was  not  always  agreeable  to  Him.  A  passion  for  retire- 
ment sometimes  led  Him  into  solitary  places,  at  other  times 
to  the  houses  of  adoring  friends.  The  public  man  too  often 
cherishes  a  passion  for  publicity,  which  is  barely  distinguish- 
able from  vanity,  though  it  may  possibly  be  an  almost  noble 
form  of  vanity ;  but  of  such  a  passion  Jesus  shows  no  trace. 
His  conduct  is  a  striking  lesson  in  that  kind  of  self-reserva- 
tion which  is  absolutely  necessary  to  all  men,  but  especially 
to  the  public  man,  because  without  it  character  deteriorates, 
and  the  springs  of  thought  are  unconsciously  impoverished. 

The  private  life  of  Jesus  may  be  traced  in  the  nature  of 
His  friendships.  Though  He  called  twelve  apostles  it  would 
appear  that  He  did  not  admit  them  to  an  equal  intimacy. 
This  distinction  of  favor  in  a  small  society  essentially  demo- 
cratic was  a  source  of  much  heart-burning  and  jealousy. 
Perhaps  it  did  something  to  alienate  the  loyalty  of  the  one 
Judean  apostle  of  the  group,  Judas  of  Kerioth,  and  in  doing 
this  laid  the  train  for  that  violent  explosion  of  revenge  in  the 

158 


THE  PRIVATE  LIFE  OF  JESUS       159 

heart  of  a  disappointed  man,  which  culminated  in  treachery 
and  betrayal.  But  it  was  a  course  of  action  inevitable  in  the 
nature  of  the  case.  There  were  thoughts  and  hopes  in  the 
mind  of  Christ  which  could  scarcely  be  confided  to  the  entire 
group  of  apostles.  The  general  relation  of  Christ  to  His 
apostles  was  that  of  a  master  to  his  scholars,  a  prophet  to 
his  neophytes.  He  explained  to  them  His  parables,  and 
opened  to  them  the  mysteries  of  the  Kingdom  of  God.  His 
chief  aim  was  to  prepare  them  as  missionaries  of  His  truth. 
But  the  original  thinker  needs  a  warmer  atmosphere  than 
this  in  which  his  thought  may  expand.  He  needs  the  quick 
and  sympathetic  comradeship  of  minds  that  will  discern  his 
thoughts  almost  before  they  are  clear  to  himself.  The  gulf 
which  divides  an  admiring  from  an  intimate  friendship  is  very 
wide.  The  intimate  friend  is  he  to  whom  a  man  can  disclose 
himself  with  entire  freedom,  with  a  happy  consciousness  that 
love  will  make  good  the  laciuue  of  his  speech,  and  will  even 
permit  him  that  sociable  silence  which  is  more  interpretative 
than  speech.  Such  intimate  friends  Jesus  found  in  Peter 
and  John,  and,  in  a  less  degree,  in  James.  For  Peter  es- 
pecially He  cherished  a  warm  affection,  which  even  the  great- 
est faults  of  character  were  powerless  to  dissolve.  When  He 
had  anything  of  importance  to  communicate  it  was  His  cus- 
tom to  take  these  three  disciples  apart,  and  talk  the  matter 
over  with  them.  He  permitted  them  great  freedoms.  Peter 
felt  no  scruple  in  rebuking  his  Master  for  what  seemed  to 
him  sad  and  foolish  fears  about  the  future.  He  also  ac- 
corded them  special  privileges.  They  alone  were  admitted 
into  the  chamber  where  the  child  of  Jairus  lay  dead.  They 
alone  were  with  Him  on  the  snow-clad  brow  of  Hermon  when 
He  was  transfigured.  And  in  all  these  episodes  we  see  Jesus 
very  conscious  of  His  need  of  friendship,  sensitively  eager  to 
avail  Himself  of  its  peaceful  pleasures,  and  constantly  with- 


160  THE    LIFE    OF   CHRIST 

drawing  from  the  clamor  of  a  public  life  to  taste  its  consola- 
tions. 

Christ's  friendship  with  women  was  even  more  remarkable. 
We  have  already  seen  that  in  Capernaum  and  its  neighbor- 
hood there  was  a  group  of  women  "  who  ministered  unto  Him 
of  their  substance."  Joanna,  the  wife  of  Chuza,  Herod's 
steward,  was  the  chief  of  these  ;  an  unknown  woman,  bearing 
the  lovely  Jewish  name  of  Susanna,  or  "the  lily,"  was 
another.  It  has  been  suggested  that  Chuza  may  have  been 
the  centurion  who  besought  Jesus  in  Cana  of  Galilee  to  heal 
his  son,  in  which  case  Joanna  would  have  abundant  cause  to 
show  the  liveliest  gratitude  to  Christ.  But  deserving  as  these 
names  are  of  immortal  recollection,  there  is  one  other  name 
which  eclipses  theirs  in  interest — that  of  Mary  of  Magdala. 
Magdala  lies  in  a  bend  of  the  lake  upon  the  green  plain  of 
Gennesaret,  at  a  distance  of  about  two  miles  from  the  town 
of  Tiberias,  and  at  about  double  that  distance  from  Capernaum. 
In  the  days  of  Christ  it  was  wealthy  and  prosperous,  the 
home  of  springs  which  were  much  valued  for  dyeing  processes, 
the  haunt  of  doves  which  were  bred  for  the  purposes  of  Tem- 
ple offerings.  Many  boats  anchored  in  its  placid  bay ;  and 
in  the  little  town  the  sound  of  the  loom  was  never  still.  The 
shell-fish  found  around  the  shores  of  Magdala  were  especially 
valued  for  the  purple  dye  they  yielded — "  the  whelk's  pearl- 
sheeted  lip "  which  gave  the  famous  Tyrrhene  dye  used  in 
the  rich  dresses  of  the  great  was  of  the  same  species.  Mary 
was,  perhaps,  the  daughter  of  some  wealthy  dyer  or  manu- 
facturer of  Magdala.  She  appears  at  least  to  have  been  the 
mistress  of  her  own  movements,  and  able  to  follow  Jesus  to 
Jerusalem.  Until  the  day  when  Jesus  entered  Magdala  her 
life  had  been  a  misery,  and  a  torture.  She  was  afflicted  with 
some  obscure  form  of  hysteric  disease,  which  the  popular 
phrase  of  the  time,  applied  to  all  mental  derangements,  de- 


THE  PRIVATE  LIFE  OF  JESUS      161 

scribed  as  "  possession  of  the  devil."  But  from  that  day  a 
new  life  opened  for  Mary  of  Magdala.  She  became  the  he- 
roine of  an  ideal  affection.  The  world  held  for  her  but  one 
name  and  one  person.  The  common  error,  which  has  done 
her  the  gross  injustice  of  making  her  name  the  synonym  of 
an  odious  form  of  vice,  is  founded  on  a  total  misconception 
of  her  history.  The  title  Magdalene  is  undoubtedly  derived 
from  Magdala,  and  she  is  called  Mary  Magdalene  merely  to 
distinguish  her  from  the  other  Marys  of  the  Gospels.  So 
far  is  she  from  deserving  the  odium  of  vice,  that  everything 
in  her  history  points  to  a  nature  of  extreme  sweetness  and 
purity,  and  a  character  of  much  nobility.  Hereafter  we  shall 
see  the  unexampled  part  she  plays  in  the  triumph  of  the  new 
religion ;  and  it  will  then  become  of  great  importance  to  rec- 
ollect her  real  character.  At  present  we  see  her  only  as  one 
of  the  closest  friends  of  Jesus. 

Along  the  lake  shore,  then,  there  had  sprung  up  a  sister- 
hood of  sweet  and  gracious  souls  whose  bond  was  devotion 
to  their  Lord.  He  abode  in  their  houses,  He  accepted  gifts 
from  them,  and  they  accounted  themselves  amply  repaid  by 
the  joy  of  His  society.  They  gave  Him  that  peculiar  sym- 
pathy and  highly  idealized  affection  which,  to  a  sensitive  and 
lofty  nature,  are  the  very  spikenard  and  the  frankincense  of 
love,  rare  and  precious  indeed,  and  seldom  found  by  even  the 
most  fortunate. 

In  the  list  of  the  women  friends  of  Jesus  the  name  of 
Mary  of  Bethany  can  never  be  omitted,  although  her  oppor- 
tunities of  association  with  the  Master  were  perhaps  more 
limited  because  Christ  spent  much  less  time  in  Judea  than 
in  Galilee.  Mary  of  Bethany  appears  to  have  supplied  an 
element  of  intellectual  sympathy,  always  rare  in  friendships 
between  man  and  woman,  and  especially  rare  among  the 
women  of  the  East.  She  was  a  woman  of  fine  discrim  ma- 
il 


162  THE   LIFE   OF   CHRIST 

tion,  keen  in  mind  as  she  was  warm  of  heart,  and  fitted  to 
follow  with  comprehension  the  loftier  thoughts  of  Jesus. 
That  Christ  did  make  her  His  confidant  is  indicated  in  the 
phrase  of  St.  Luke,  "  Mary,  which  also  sat  at  Jesus'  feet,  and 
heard  His  word."  St.  Luke  draws  a  contrast  between  Mary 
and  her  sister  Martha,  which  is  clearly  unfavorable  to 
Martha,  and  he  relates  a  saying  of  Christ's  which  appears  to 
be  a  gentle  irony  on  Martha's  character.  But  the  very  man- 
ner of  Christ's  speech  reveals  the  terms  of  intimacy  on 
which  He  stood  with  both  sisters,  for  irony,  however  gentle, 
is  a  weapon  dangerous  to  friendship,  unless  the  friendship 
be  peculiarly  secure  and  intimate.  Martha  loved  Christ  as 
sincerely  as  her  sister,  but  with  a  kind  of  affection  more  prac- 
tical and  less  tinged  with  mystic  rapture.  Both  sisters  were 
in  the  secret  of  Christ's  movements,  for  at  the  time  of  their 
brother's  sickness  they  were  able  at  once  to  communicate 
with  Him  in  the  region  beyond  Jordan  where  He  was  preach- 
ing. In  this  home  at  Bethany  Christ's  happiest  hours  were 
spent.  It  was  from  this  house  that  He  set  out  on  the  great 
day  when  He  passed  over  the  Mount  of  Olives  in  triumph, 
and  entered  the  Golden  Gate  of  Jerusalem  amid  the  accla- 
mation of  the  multitude.  It  was  to  this  house  He  returned 
when  the  day  was  over.  And,  as  if  to  show  how  imperish- 
able was  the  memory  of  this  home,  which  had  so  often  been 
the  haven  of  His  weariness ;  how  tender  His  recollections  of 
the  faithfulness  and  love  which  had  eased  the  burden  of  His 
toilsome  days,  and  soothed  His  last  hours ;  it  is  near  the 
house  of  Mary  that  He  takes  His  eternal  farewell  of  earth : 
"  He  led  them  out  as  far  «.s  io  Bethany,  and  He  lifted  up  His 
hands,  and  blessed  them ;  and  it  came  to  pass  while  He 
blessed  them,  He  was  parted  from  them  and  carried  up  into 
heaven." 

Bethany  remains  for  ever  sacred  in  the  annals  of  love  and 


THE  PRIVATE  LIFE  OF  JESUS       163 

friendship,  but  we  can  hardly  doubt  that  there  were  many 
other  homes  that  knew  something  of  the  secret  of  Christ's 
private  life.  A  pleasant  air  of  hospitality  pervades  a  large 
portion  of  the  Gospels.  If  the  Jew  ever  rose  above  the  pet- 
tiness of  race  antipathy  and  dogmatic  rancor,  it  was  in  the 
exercise  of  those  rites  of  hospitality  which  among  all  Eastern 
peoples  are  esteemed  the  most  sacred  and  gracious  of  all 
duties.  It  is  certainly  among  Eastern  peoples,  and  those 
alone,  if  we  except  certain  savage  tribes,  that  a  true  sense  of 
social  brotherhood  exists.  The  exclusive  family  circle  and 
the  barred  door  are  things  peculiar  to  the  jealous  civiliza- 
tions of  the  West.  But  in  the  East  the  path  is  made  easy 
for  the  stranger  and  the  wanderer  by  a  dignified  hospitality 
which  treats  a  guest  rather  as  the  temporary  master  of  the 
house  than  as  a  passing  visitor.  Thus  we  find  even  Phari- 
sees receiving  Christ  into  their  homes,  and  making  feasts  for 
Him ;  and  if,  at  these  feasts,  sometimes  the  spirit  of  contro- 
versy broke  out,  it  was  usually  subdued  by  the  traditional 
sense  of  courtesy  due  to  a  guest.  It  would  be  an  error  to 
deduce  from  such  a  saying  as  "  The  foxes  have  holes,  and 
the  birds  of  the  air  have  nests,  but  the  Son  of  Man  hath  not 
where  to  lay  His  head,"  that  the  life  of  Christ,  during  His 
public  ministry,  was  in  any  real  sense  an  outcast  life.  He 
had,  indeed,  no  secure  and  settled  home,  but  He  had  many 
homes.  "We  often  find  Him  at  the  tables  of  persons  of  some 
social  distinction ;  oftener  still  at  the  tables  of  those  whose 
wealth  attracted  social  odium ;  and  it  was  one  of  the  re- 
proaches brought  against  Him  by  the  more  austere,  that  He 
was  too  careless  of  His  company,  and  that  His  progresses 
were  everywhere  attended  by  joyous  feasts  and  social  gather- 
ings. But  probably  the  houses  of  the  poor  knew  most  of 
Him.  In  the  darkening  eve  He  would  draw  near  the  door 
of  some  poor  fisherman  of  the  lake,  or  some  artisan  of  Beth- 


164  THE    LIFE    OF   CHRIST 

saida  or  Magdala,  and  enter  in,  and  join  the  family  in  the 
simple  meal  of  bread  and  olives  and  rough  country  wine. 
He  would  gather  the  children  round  His  knees  and  bless 
them,  and  use  His  matchless  power  of  parable  to  sow  the 
seeds  of  goodness  in  their  tender  hearts.  Friends  and  neigh- 
bors would  drop  in,  and  form  a  wondering  group  around 
Him  as  He  talked.  The  night  sped  on  winged  feet — ah !  all 
too  swiftly  for  these  listeners  who  heard  One  speak  "  as 
never  man  spake."  Then  came  the  evening  prayer,  the  final 
blessing,  the  last  lingering  word  of  counsel  or  of  comfort  to 
some  newly-won  disciple  ;  and  on  a  score  of  memories  there 
is  inscribed  an  image  and  an  idyll  which  is  never  more 
effaced. 

But  the  life  of  Christ  reveals  a  yet  more  sacred  kind  of 
privacy.  Hospitality,  indeed,  secured  for  Him  a  refuge  from 
the  pressure  of  the  crowd,  but  there  were  times  when  He 
needed  a  refuge  from  man  himself.  This  asylum  of  a  deeper 
peace  He  found  in  Nature.  However  man  may  disapprove 
the  theory  of  a  cloistered  life,  yet  the  silence  and  seclusion 
of  the  cloister  do  represent  a  real  need  for  all  men  of  medi- 
tative mind.  He  who  has  no  periods  of  silence  soon  finds 
himself  unfitted  for  a  life  of  public  speech  by  mere  paucity 
of  ideas.  For  ideas  only  come  to  growth  in  silence.  Or,  if 
this  judgment  seem  too  severe,  may  we  not  say  that  ideas  are 
like  the  flowers  that  would  soon  lose  their  perfume  without 
the  dews  of  night,  and  that  meditation  may  be  thus  described 
as  the  renewing  dew  of  thought?  Especially  is  this  true  of 
the  great  mystic  and  poetic  ideas  through  which  in  all  ages 
religion  has  expressed  itself.  When  Elijah  found  the  real 
revelation  of  God  in  "  a  still,  small  voice,"  he  expressed  the 
eternal  truth  that  the  world  must  be  stilled  around  us  before 
the  sense  of  God  is  deeply  felt.  Christ  constantly  acted  on 
this  profound  intuition.     While  in  no  way  encouraging  the 


THE  PRIVATE  LIFE  OF  JESUS       165 

ideal  of  a  cloistered  life,  but  rather  rebuking  it  by  the  very 
nature  of  His  own  daily  ministry,  He  did  show  in  His  ex- 
ample the  need  and  use  of  meditation.  When  in  Galilee  He 
often  sought  the  mountains  that  surround  the  lake,  and  re- 
joiced to  be  alone  among  them.  When  in  Jerusalem  the 
Mount  of  Olives  was  His  leafy  cloister,  where,  sometimes 
early  in  the  morning,  sometimes  late  at  night,  He  retired  to 
pray.  Prayer  and  meditation  were  the  daily  rule  of  life  for 
Him.  When  the  end  comes  it  finds  Him  praying  in  that 
very  garden  which  had  so  often  been  the  witness  of  His  soli- 
tude, the  shrine  of  His  devoutest  thought,  and  the  altar  of  His 
supplications. 

The  prayerfulness  of  Jesus  is  no  doubt  a  mystery.  It 
might  be  argued  that  no  one  needed  the  help  of  prayer  so 
little,  since  He  claimed  to  dwell  in  the  very  bosom  of  God. 
But  such  a  conclusion  arises  from  a  total  misconception  of 
what  prayer  really  means.  Prayer,  according  to  the  defini- 
tion given  to  us  by  Christ,  is  not  so  much  the  asking  for 
some  definite  good  which  we  suppose  we  need,  as  the  at- 
tempt to  lift  our  souls  into  the  Divine  atmosphere.  It  is 
thus  the  language  or  the  expression  of  the  soul.  Reason 
may  suggest,  and  with  admirable  logic,  that  it  is  absurd  to 
suppose  that  the  entire  predetermined  course  of  human 
events  should  be  set  aside  by  the  prayer  of  an  individual, 
who  is  but  an  infinitesimal  atom  in  the  congregated  life  of 
man.  Christ's  reply  is  that  the  use  of  prayer  is  not  to  de- 
flect the  will  of  God  for  our  own  supposed  good,  but  to  rec- 
oncile ourselves  to  that  will  as  the  highest  good. 

"  Whate'er  is  good  to  wish,  wish  that  of  heaven; 
But  if  for  any  wish  thou  dar'st  not  pray, 
Then  pray  to  God  to  cast  that  wish  away." 

Piety  might  suggest,  with  a  logic  not  less  lucid,  that  if  God 


166  THE    LIFE    OF   CHRIST 

does  indeed  know  what  is  good  for  us,  it  is  foolish  to  impor- 
tune Him  for  what  He  will  not  fail  to  give.  But  this  con- 
ception reduces  the  universe  to  a  mere  bureaucratic  govern- 
ment, whereas  Christ  regarded  it  as  a  household  or  a  family. 
The  child  may  be  well  assured  of  the  settled  benignity  of  his 
parent,  but  that  child  would  be  very  sullen  and  unlovable 
who  had  no  requests  to  make  of  the  parent.  The  requests 
of  the  child,  so  constant  and  perhaps  so  unreasonable,  are, 
nevertheless,  so  many  expressions  of  faith  and  trust,  and  are 
the  alphabet  of  the  affections.  So  Christ  took  pains  to 
teach,  in  two  singular  parables,  that  God  loves  to  be  impor- 
tuned by  His  children,  even  as  a  good  parent  does.  The 
man  who  opens  the  door  at  midnight  to  his  friend  does  so 
from  no  spirit  of  generosity,  but  simply  to  get  rid  of  him. 
The  unjust  judge,  who  at  last  deals  with  the  widow's  wrongs, 
does  so  from  no  sense  either  of  sympathy  or  justice,  but 
merely  to  escape  her  importunity.  The  meaning  of  Christ 
appears  to  be,  that  if  men  would  devote  the  same  energy  of 
desire  to  spiritual  good  which  they  give  to  temporal  they 
would  find  a  response  beyond  all  their  hopes.  Generosity 
or  judgment  wrung  from  the  bad  by  importunity  may  seem 
an  unsafe  and  doubtful  analogue  to  apply  to  God ;  but  it  at 
least  suggests  that  the  Divine  benignity  when  importuned 
Avill  act  with  a  superior  readiness  and  grace,  and  that  the 
value  of  importunity  is  the  intensity  wh'  h  it  communicates 
to  the  human  spirit.  "  If  ye  being  evil,"  and  therefore  often 
grudging  and  ungenerous,  "know  how  to  give  good  gifts 
unto  your  children,  how  much  more  shall  your  Father  in 
heaven  give  the  Holy  Spirit  to  them  that  ask  Him  ?  " 

But  we  are  not  left  to  parables,  from  which  various  and 
even  opposite  deductions  may  be  drawn,  to  learn  how  Christ 
regarded  prayer.  St.  Luke  tells  us  that,  "  as  He  was  pray- 
ing in  a  certain  place,  when  He  ceased  one  of  His  disciples 


THE  PRIVATE  LIFE  OF  JESUS       167 

said  unto  Him,  Lord,  teach  us  to  pray."  The  occasion  was 
perhaps  some  quiet  devotional  meeting  among  the  hills  or 
olive-gardens,  when  the  disciples  listened  with  a  sacred  awe 
to  the  voice  of  Christ  in  prayer,  and  their  uplifted  hearts 
coveted  so  great  a  gift.  Christ  grants  their  request  by  fram- 
ing for  them  the  noble  form  of  supplication  which  we  know 
as  the  "Lord's  Prayer."  He  meant  it  as  a  model,  and  yet  it 
may  be  said  that  no  acknowledged  model  has  ever  been  so 
generally  neglected.  We  may  at  once  justify  the  melancholy 
truth  of  this  statement  by  comparing  the  clauses  of  this  Di- 
vine prayer  with  the  common  human  temper  and  modes  of 
supplication.  At  the  root  of  most  prayer  lies  the  old  pagan 
conception  of  gods,  either  malevolent  or  careless,  who  have 
to  be  propitiated ;  but  this  prayer  commences  with  a  note  of 
joyous  confidence  in  God,  "Our  Father,  who  art  in  heaven." 
Human  prayer  most  frequently  applies  itself  to  the  request 
for  some  benefit  apparently  essential  to  the  earthly  life  and 
present  happiness.  This  prayer  contains  but  one  petition 
for  an  earthly  good,  and  this  boon  the  very  least  that  can  be 
asked,  "  Give  us  this  day  our  daily  bread."  Even  among 
men  of  excellent  virtues  the  act  of  prayer  is  usually  dissoci- 
ated from  any  antecedent  claim  of  character ;  but  in  this 
prayer  character  is  made  the  antecedent  of  all  true  supplica- 
tion, for  in  asking  the  forgiveness  of  sin  the  claim  is  urged, 
"For  we  also  forgive  everyone  that  is  indebted  to  us." 
Finally,  if  we  divide  the  clauses  of  the  Lord's  Prayer  into 
groups,  we  find  that  the  first  four  clauses  are  passionate  as- 
pirations, not  for  any  human  good  but  for  the  complete  tri- 
umph of  the  Divine  will  in  earth  and  heaven ;  the  fifth  alone 
touches  on  the  temporal  and  earthly  life ;  the  three  follow- 
ing petitions  are  for  spiritual  blessings  only,  the  forgiveness 
of  sin,  and  the  victory  over  evil  and  temptation ;  and  then 
the  prayer  closes  with   pure  ascription  and  doxology,  the 


1G8  THE    LIFE    OF   CHRIST 

soul  soaring,  as  it  were,  beyond  its  own  loftiest  desires  into  the 
clear  empyrean,  from  which  God's  kingdom  is  seen  as  actual 
and  eternal.  Thus  the  Lord's  Prayer  is  something  more  than 
a  model  prayer  ;  it  is  a  definition  of  the  principles  of  prayer. 
The  words  in  which  St.  Luke  describes  the  occasion  of  its 
utterance  admit  another  interpretation.  "  As  He  was  pray- 
ing in  a  certain  place "  may  very  possibly  refer  not  to  a 
semi-public,  but  to  a  private  act  of  prayer,  in  which  Christ 
was  surprised  by  His  disciples.  St.  Luke  seems  to  indicate 
that  "  the  place  "  was  in  the  neighborhood  of  Bethany  ;  per- 
haps some  grove  of  palms  attached  to  the  house  of  Mary,  or 
some  retired  spot  on  the  adjacent  slopes  of  Olivet.  There 
the  disciples  came  seeking  Him,  and  saw  Him  kneeling,  and 
stood  in  reverent  silence  at  a  distance,  waiting  till  His  act  of 
devotion  was  accomplished.  When  they  presently  asked 
Him  to  teach  them  how  to  pray,  the  request  was  prompted 
not  only  by  the  sacred  spectacle  they  had  witnessed,  but  by 
a  passionate  curiosity  as  to  the  nature  of  Christ's  own  prayer. 
For  what  had  He  besought  Heaven  in  those  silent  supplica- 
tions ?  What  words  were  on  the  lips  that  never  spake  save 
in  accents  that  were  new  and  beautiful  to  human  ears? 
Christ's  reply  is  to  repeat  aloud  the  prayer  that  He  has  al- 
ready breathed  in  silence.  It  is  thus  that  He  Himself 
prayed,  in  a  series  of  profound  wishes,  through  which  the 
human  will  seeks  to  merge  and  lose  itself  in  the  Divine  Will. 
One  clause  alone  may  have  been  interpolated  as  an  accom- 
modation to  a  human  frailty  He  never  felt — the  petition  for 
the  forgiveness  of  sins.  But  in  all  other  respects  the  prayer 
may  in  truth  be  the  Lord's  own  Prayer — the  sacred  litany 
of  a  soul  in  all  things  obedient  to  the  will  of  His  Father, 
often  uttered  in  those  private  hours  when  at  morn  or  eve  He 
found  His  oratory  in  the  palm  groves  of  Bethphage  or  among 
the  silent  hills  of  Galilee. 


THE  PRIVATE  LIFE  OF  JESUS       169 

Sucli  was  tlie  private  life  of  Jesus.  The  loneliness  of  the 
mystic's  mind,  which  turns  as  by  the  instinct  of  the  cage- 
less  bird  to  the  solitudes  of  Nature,  is  counterbalanced  in 
Christ  by  the  genial  affections  of  the  man.  From  those  pro- 
found and  constant  meditations,  in  which  veil  after  veil 
seemed  lifted  from  the  universe,  until  the  human  and 
Divine  spirit  met  indissoluble,  and  found  themselves  one, 
Christ  returned  to  the  beaten  roads  of  human  life,  not  with  a 
lessened  but  a  quickened  interest  in  man.  The  higher  He 
soared  above  average  humanity  the  more  eager  was  He  that 
humanity  should  accompany  Him  in  His  flight.  H  the  in- 
effectual strength  of  man  is  ever  to  essay  that  great  experi- 
ment, it  can  only  be  by  the  same  means.  Certainly  that 
experiment  will  never  be  achieved  by  mysticism  alone,  for 
the  inevitable  effect  of  mysticism  is  to  produce  aloofness 
from  the  world,  and  to  attenuate  almost  to  nothingness  the 
bonds  that  hold  men  to  a  life  of  social  intercourse.  There- 
fore the  friendships  of  Christ's  private  life  have  a  spiritual 
as  well  as  a  human  significance.  The  love  of  God  ought 
never  to  exclude  the  love  of  man.  The  private  life  of  Christ 
reveals  each  in  equal  perfection,  and  the  one  as  perpetually 
interfused  with  the  other.  The  true  motto  of  such  a 
life  may  perhaps  be  best  found  in  the  familiar  verse  of 
Coleridge — 

"  He  prayeth  best  who  loveth  best 
All  things  both  great  and  small, 
For  the  dear  God  who  loveth  us, 
He  made  and  loveth  all." 


CHAPTER  XIII 

THE  FALLING  OF  THE  SHADOW 

The  presence  of  John's  disciples  at  the  feast  which 
Matthew  the  publican  made  in  Capernaum  once  more  intro- 
duces to  our  history,  and  for  the  last  time,  the  name  of 
John.  It  is  little  wonder  that  these  men,  who  subsisted  in  a 
constant  state  of  hunger,  looked  on  the  prodigal  profusion 
of  Matthew's  feast  with  astonishment  and  perplexity.  Fast- 
ing, always  a  feature  of  Jewish  religious  practice,  they  had 
carried  to  unheard-of  lengths.  Among  the  stricter  Jews  it 
was  no  uncommon  thing  to  devote  two  whole  days  in  every 
week  to  a  total  abstinence  from  food.  These  were  public 
fasts  ;  but  the  religious  devotee,  devoured  by  his  passion  for 
austerity,  added  a  general  rigor  of  life  which  forbade  any 
concession  to  appetite,  beyond  such  as  was  absolutely  need- 
ful to  existence  itself.  These  half-starved  fanatics  of  the 
desert  might  well  marvel  at  a  kind  of  life  which  was  a  per- 
petual marriage-feast.  Their  thoughts  turned  with  angry 
sympathy  to  their  great  leader,  already  deserted  by  the  pop- 
ulace, and  reduced  once  more  to  "a  voice  crying  in  the 
wilderness."  Gloom  was  fast  settling  upon  that  strenuous 
and  noble  mind.  The  first  enthusiasm  of  John's  successful 
propaganda  had  already  waned,  and  his  words  had  been  ful- 
filled; he  had  decreased  as  Jesus  had  increased.  There 
was  preparing  a  great  tragedy,  fatal  to  himself,  and  of  deci- 
sive influence  on  the  life  of  Christ.  "We  may  trace  the  first 
falling  of  the  shadow  on  the  mind  of  Christ  to  that  hour 
when  the  news  reached  Him  of  the  death  of  John. 

170 


THE  FALLING  OF  THE  SHADOW    171 

He  who  stands  upon  the  summit  of  the  Mount  of  Olives 
sees  to  the  eastward  a  prospect  full  of  grandeur  and  sterility. 
Immediately  in  the  foreground  is  a  bare  and  dreadful  coun- 
try, falling  rapidly  to  those  gloomy  gorges  where  Elijah 
found  a  refuge,  and  broken  by  a  single  green  oasis,  the  palm 
groves  and  balsam  gardens  of  Jericho.  Rising  above  the 
landscape  are  the  mountains  of  Moab,  deeply  fissured  and 
wonderfully  colored  with  a  hundred  hues  of  pink  and  car- 
mine, melting  into  deepest  purple.  They  form  a  vast  bastion 
above  the  waters  of  the  Dead  Sea,  which  is  as  an  amethyst 
enclosed  in  a  setting  of  coral.  Northward  lies  the  Jordan 
valley,  in  which  the  sacred  river  can  be  traced,  less  by  the 
gleam  of  silver  in  its  windings  than  by  the  broad  band  of 
green  that  marks  its  course.  It  was  to  the  eastward  of  the 
Jordan,  close  to  its  juncture  with  the  Dead  Sea,  at  a  place 
called  iEnon,  the  site  of  which  is  lost,  that  John  conducted 
the  last  acts  of  his  public  ministry.  What  happened  to 
bring  his  ministry  to  a  sudden  close  we  cannot  ascertain. 
It  is  certain,  however,  that  he  incurred  the  anger  of  Herod 
Antipas,  or  his  suspicious  curiosity,  which  was  not  less  for- 
midable. Perhaps  some  strong  words  of  John,  uttered  to  the 
multitude,  were  reported  to  the  tyrant,  whose  spies  were 
everywhere.  Herod  at  this  time  was  residing  in  the  vast 
fortress  of  Machperus,  which  stands  at  a  height  of  nearly 
four  thousand  feet  above  the  Dead  Sea.  In  the  heart  of  this 
enormous  fortress  and  arsenal  he  had  built  himself  a  stately 
palace,  in  which  he  imitated  not  merely  the  luxuries  but  the 
infamies  of  the  most  corrupt  of  Roman  emperors.  To  this 
prison-palace  John  was  brought.  In  its  secret  dungeons  the 
final  act  of  his  heroic  life  was  consummated. 

The  story  of  the  Herods  is  of  great  importance  in  the  long 
drama  of  Jewish  history.  Herod  the  Great,  the  founder  of 
the  race,  in  some  respects  deserved  his  fame.     It  was  he  who 


172  THE    LIFE    OF   CHRIST 

built  the  Temple,  transforming  what  was  little  more  than  a 
provincial  sanctuary  into  the  most  splendid  of  religious  edi- 
fices.    For  six-and-forty  years  vast  regiments  of  workmen, 
under  the  guidance  of  a  thousand  priests,  toiled  to  raise  a 
building  more  magnificent  than  Solomon  had  ever  dreamed 
of,  rich  with  every  kind  of  precious  stone,  roofed  with  gold, 
adorned     with    countless    colonnades    and    porticos,     vast 
enough  for  ceremonies  which  attracted  all  nations,  and  beau- 
tiful enough  to  become  the  envy  of  the  world.     It  is  scarcely 
an  exaggeration  to  say  that  not  even  the  greatest  buildings 
of  antiquity,  the  Acropolis  in  its  severe  perfection,  or  Nero's 
Golden  House  in  its  most  fantastic  splendor,  ever  equalled 
this  prodigious  monument  raised  by  the  genius  of  the  Idu- 
mean    prince.     But,  so    far    as    Herod    was  concerned,  the 
Temple  was   a  monument  not   of  piety  but  of  policy  and 
pride.     At  heart  he  cared  nothing  for  religion.     He  system- 
atically browbeat  and  insulted  the  priests.     He  changed  the 
priesthood  at  will,  and  once  proclaimed  a  youth  of  seventeen 
High  Priest,     Those  who  saw  the  national  religion  suddenly 
emerge  into  the  magnificence  of  world-wide  fame  ;  who  wan- 
dered through  that  maze  of  marble  with  astonished  eyes ; 
who  heard  the  silver  trumpets  of  the  priests  call  to  prayer, 
even  as  the  muezzin  calls  to-day  from  the  Mosque  of  Omar 
— sole  and  alien  relic  standing  on  the  enormous  site  where 
Herod's  Temple  once  rose  vast  and  arrogant ;  those,  in  fact, 
for  whom  all  these  glories  were  prepared,  felt  them  to  be  an 
insult  and  a  sarcasm.     They   had  no  grateful  thoughts  of 
Herod.     They  knew  him  to  be  ostentatious,  cruel,  vengeful, 
superstitious,  dissolute,  and  unscrupulous.     He  was  stained 
with  the  blood  of  a  hundred   murders.     He  knew  neither 
shame  nor  pity  when  his  passions  were  aroused.     His  life 
was  full  of  guilty  intrigues,  culminating  ever  and  again  in 
acts  of  turpitude  which  even  the  base  abhorred.     As  if  to 


THE  FALLING  OF  THE  SHADOW    173 

sliow  Iris  irony,  lie  had  built  close  to  the  Temple  itself  thea- 
tres and  amphitheatres,  which  to  the  Jews  appeared  mon- 
strous sinks  of  all  iniquity.  When  Christ  spoke  in  frank 
depreciation  of  the  Temple  perhaps  He  remembered  who 
had  built  it,  and  His  Avords  should  scarcely  have  surprised 
or  offended  men  who  in  their  hearts  had  cursed  the  name  of 
Herod  many  times,  knowing  full  well  what  little  cause  they 
had  to  be  proud  of  a  Temple  built  by  an  insolent  usurper 
who  had  trampled  the  priesthood  in  the  mire,  a  tyrant 
who  had  stained  himself  with  the  blood  of  the  just  and 
good. 

The  vices  of  Herod  the  Great  were  reproduced  in  Herod 
Antipas,  but  they  were  unaccompanied  by  any  genius  or 
strength  of  character.  He  performed  with  meanness  and 
calculation  the  kind  of  crimes  to  which  Herod  the  Great  had 
lent  the  glamor  of  arrogance  and  daring.  It  may  not  be  true 
that  "  vice  loses  half  its  stain  "  when  allied  with  great  man- 
ners, or  with  the  defiant  scorn  of  some  "  archangel  ruined  "  ; 
but  it  is  at  least  true  that  the  vices  of  the  coward  are  doubly 
odious.  Herod  Antipas  was  in  all  things  a  coward.  He 
preferred  the  stealth  of  the  assassin  to  the  boldness  of  the 
open  foe.  He  bribed  and  cajoled  where  the  founder  of  his 
race  would  have  beaten  his  antagonist  with  many  stripes. 
With  a  hatred  of  the  Jews  not  less  deadly  than  that  of  any 
of  his  race,  he  feared  the  people.  Thus  we  find  that  his  con- 
duct to  John,  like  his  conduct  to  Christ  at  a  later  date,  unites 
the  two  worst  features  of  all  that  man  counts  most  detestable 
— timidity  and  cruelty.  Like  all  his  race  he  was  the  play- 
thing of  his  passions.  Even  among  the  most  degenerate 
Romans  of  the  days  of  Nero  it  would  be  hard  to  parallel  the 
profligacies  of  these  Idumeans.  They  had  carried  intermar- 
riage to  such  a  point  that  all  the  ordinary  demarcations  of 
decorum  were  effaced.     Chastity,  loyalty,  and  good  faith  were 


174  THE    LIFE    OF   CHRIST 

terms  unknown  to  them.  Disreputable  escapades,  adulteries, 
divorces,  incestuous  alliances  characterized  their  life  among 
themselves.  The  scandal  of  these  things  had  come  to  its 
height  during  the  days  when  John  baptized  at  iEnon.  Philip, 
the  brother  of  Antipas,  at  one  time  destined  to  the  tetrarchy, 
had  been  disinherited,  and  lived  at  Borne  as  a  private  citizen, 
to  the  intolerable  chagrin  of  Herodias,  his  wife.  While  upon 
a  visit  to  his  brother,  Antipas  had  submitted  to  the  intrigues 
of  Herodias,  and  had  ended  by  carrying  her  off.  He  had 
married  her,  not  even  taking  the  trouble  to  divorce  his  wife. 
She  was  his  niece  as  well  as  his  sister-in-law.  She  returned 
with  him  to  Judea,  claiming  full  queenly  honors  from  a  race 
who  could  not  but  regard  her  as  doubly  an  adulteress.  Per- 
haps in  these  open  conferences  beside  the  Jordan  some  one 
asked  John's  opinion  of  this  scandal ;  but  at  all  events  John 
was  not  the  man  to  conceal  his  opinions.  What  less  could 
he  do,  whose  whole  life  was  dedicated  to  a  great  reform  of 
manners,  than  denounce  one  whose  lust  and  perfidy  were  the 
talk  of  every  tongue  ?  Under  pretence  of  hearing  John  for 
himself  the  stealthy  Idumean  invited  John  to  visit  him,  and 
the  request  was  a  command.  At  the  close  of  some  long  day 
of  teaching  we  see  John,  in  the  midst  of  armed  men,  riding 
slowly  from  the  fords  of  Jordan  up  the  wild  denies  that  led 
to  Macha?rus.  From  that  prison-palace  he  is  destined  to 
emerge  alive  no  more. 

Nevertheless  it  would  seem  that  for  a  time  Herod  treated 
his  prisoner  with  respect  and  even  deference.  The  main  ob- 
ject of  Herod  was  achieved  in  the  summary  suppression  of 
John's  public  ministry.  Beside  the  Jordan,  preaching  to  ex- 
cited crowds,  John's  influence  was  a  menace  and  perhaps  a 
danger  to  the  power  of  Herod.  Hence  it  was  a  stroke  of  po- 
litical astuteness  to  arrest  him.  But  Herod  had  no  wish  to 
act  harshly  by  his  captive.     He  treated  him  as  a  person  of 


THE  FALLING  OF  THE  SHADOW    175 

distinction  ;  and '  in  the  case  of  one  whose  power  over  popu- 
lar thought  was  still  very  great,  good  manners  became  also 
good  policy.  He  was  even  curious  to  understand  the  nature 
of  John's  message,  and  it  says  much  for  the  force  of  John's 
character  that  he  had  little  difficulty  in  establishing  a  com- 
plete ascendancy  over  the  mind  of  his  captor.  Herod  kept 
John  beside  him,  says  St.  Mark,  rather  as  a  prisoner  on  pa- 
role than  as  a  criminal,  "and  when  he  heard  him  he  did 
many  things,  and  heard  him  gladly."  It  is  difficult  to  imag- 
ine what  sort  of  pleasure  Herod  found  in  John's  society,  ex- 
cept the  barren  pleasure  of  curiosity.  But  the  implication 
of  St.  Mark's  words  is  that  Herod  did  actually  for  a  time  ac- 
cept John  as  a  kind  of  spiritual  director.  He  heard  John 
gladly  for  his  eloquence,  he  executed  some  external  reforma- 
tions in  the  manners  of  his  court,  he  even  felt  sincere  appre- 
ciation of  his  prisoner's  character.  But  on  one  point  he  was 
obdurate  ;  he  would  permit  no  interference  with  his  adulter- 
ous and  half-incestuous  marriage.  Yet  that  was  the  one 
point  on  which  John  was  bound  to  speak.  He  had  already 
spoken  in  language  that  could  neither  be  retracted  nor  for- 
gotten. Night  after  night  when  the  revelries  of  the  court 
were  at  an  end,  and  silence  had  fallen  on  the  vast  and  gloomy 
fortress,  Herod  would  send  for  his  great  prisoner,  would  pro- 
fess himself  eager  to  discuss  a  hundred  points  of  speculative 
truth,  would  even  listen  with  a  kind  of  cringing  awe  to  John's 
lofty  moral  teachings ;  but  always  in  the  end  the  conversa- 
tion broke  upon  a  single  sentence,  "  It  is  not  lawful  for  thee 
to  have  her."  And  so  Herod  came  to  see  at  last  that  his 
quarrel  with  John  was  more  deadly  than  it  seemed ;  that  it 
could  not  be  healed  by  cajoleries  and  flatteries ;  that  it  was 
the  old  irreconcilable  dispute,  the  eternal  conflict  between 
vice  and  virtue. 

During  the  early  part  of  his  captivity  John  still  exercised 


176  THE    LIFE    OF   CHRIST 

the  functions  of  the  leader  of  a  parly.  His  disciples  were 
still  with  him,  and  he  was  able  to  direct  their  movements. 
But  in  spite  of  Herod's  lenience  he  must  have  known  himself 
in  >m  the  first  a  doomed  man.  Day  by  day,  as  he  gazed  from 
this  craggy  height  of  Machserus  over  the  widespread  pros- 
pect of  the  Judean  desert,  with  Jerusalem  and  the  hills  of 
Hebron  to  the  south,  the  Jordan  valley  and  the  green  palm 
groves  of  Jericho  to  the  north — scenes  familiar  to  him  from 
his  boyhood,  and  made  doubly  dear  to  him  by  the  toils  and 
triumphs  of  his  ministry — the  conviction  grew  upon  him  that 
he  would  tread  these  scenes  no  more.  A  cloud  of  despond- 
ence settled  on  his  mind.  It  seemed  to  him  that  he  had  lived 
in  vain ;  perhaps  at  times  he  was  ready  to  say  with  a  later 
sage  that  men  were  not  worth  the  trouble  he  had  taken  over 
them.  His  disciples  themselves  could  not  conceal  their  sad- 
ness and  perplexity.  Some  remained  disconsolate  beside  the 
fords  of  Jordan,  others  had  wandered  into  Galilee ;  all  were 
dejected.  In  these  dreary  days  even  John's  faith  was  par- 
tially eclipsed.  The  news  that  came  to  him  of  Christ's  joy- 
ous progresses  in  Galilee  filled  him  with  alarm  and  doubt. 
Had  he  been  mistaken  after  all  in  recognizing  Jesus  as  the 
long-desired  Messiah  ?  The  most  acute  pain  that  John  ever 
knew  was  tasted  in  the  pang  of  such  a  question.  He  sent  a 
deputation  to  Jesus,  asking,  "  Art  Thou  He  that  should  come, 
or  look  we  for  another  ?  "  The  answer  he  received  should 
have  assured  him  that  the  convivial  feasts  in  Galilee  which 
had  so  offended  his  disciples  were  by  no  means  the  chief 
feature  of  the  new  ministry  which  had  filled  Galilee  with  an 
intoxicating  joy.  "Go,"  said  Jesus,  "and  show  John  again 
those  things  which  ye  do  hear  and  see :  the  blind  receive 
their  sight,  and  the  lame  walk,  the  lepers  are  cleansed  and 
the  deaf  hear,  the  dead  are  raised  up  and  the  poor  have  the 
gospel  preached  to  them.     And  blessed  is  he  whosoever  shall 


THE  FALLING  OF  THE  SHADOW    177 

not  be  offended  in  Me."  The  message  no  doubt  reached 
John,  but  there  is  no  record  of  how  it  was  received.  One 
would  like  to  think  that  John  died  with  a  recovered  faith  in 
Him  whom  he  had  called  the  Lamb  of  God,  but  there  is 
nothing  to  suggest  it.  When  darkness  settles  on  a  great 
mind  it  is  usually  impenetrable.  From  the  lonely  height  of 
Herod's  fortress  John  believed  himself  to  be  looking  on  the 
battlefield  of  a  lost  cause.  Perhaps  in  the  sadness  of  these 
gloomy  sunsets  he  came  to  sigh  for  death,  and  his  last  thought 
was  the  thought  of  Elijah :  "  It  is  enough  :  now,  O  Lord, 
take  away  my  life ;  for  I  am  not  better  than  my  fathers." 

The  Angel  of  Death  did  not  long  resist  John's  impor- 
tunity. The  winter  wore  away  in  Macha?rus,  the  spring 
came,  and  with  it  the  anniversary  of  the  death  of  Herod  the 
Great,  and  of  the  succession  of  Antipas  to  the  tetrarchv. 
This  was  the  opportunity  of  Antipas  to  arrange  a  great  feast. 
Herodias  was  present  at  the  feast,  with  Salome,  her  daugh- 
ter by  the  husband  whom  she  had  disgraced  and  forsaken. 
Whatever  lenience  John  had  won  from  Herod,  it  is  certain 
that  Herodias  hated  him.  Perhaps  this  very  lenience  had 
been  a  frequent  subject  of  dispute  between  them,  for  Herod- 
ias, free  from  all  compunction  in  her  vices,  would  despise 
Herod  for  the  weakness  that  even  dallied  with  good  while 
it  held  fast  by  evil.  In  any  case  John's  bold  rebuke  was  an 
affront  offered  less  to  Herod  than  to  her.  The  dishonored 
woman  never  pardons  a  reference  to  her  dishonor.  In  pro- 
portion to  her  knowledge  of  her  sin  is  the  frantic  desire  to 
have  it  treated  as  though  it  had  not  been.  Thus  the  world 
has  seen  again  and  again  the  strange  spectacle  of  women  who 
persuade  themselves  that  their  vice  does  not  exist  because  it 
is  unremarked.  If  Herodias  had  ever  seen  John,  which  it  is 
nearly  certain  that  she  must  have  done,  she  had  read  in  his 
very  face  the  uncontrolled  abhorrence  which  he  felt  for  her ; 
12 


178  THE    LIFE    OF    CHRIST 

and  his  frequent  interviews  with  her  paramour  were  a  source 
of  alarm  as  well  as  insult.  But  now  her  chance  of  vengeance 
had  arrived.  In  the  wild  excess  with  which  the  banquet 
ended,  it  was  suggested  that  Salome  should  execute  one  of 
those  grossly  pantomimic  dances  usually  left  to  courtesans 
and  the  paid  servants  of  corruption.  Salome  proved  herself 
a  fit  daughter  of  such  a  mother.  She  was  the  descendant  of 
priests  and  princes ;  she  was  to  become  a  queen ;  but  she 
had  no  scruple  in  violating  her  modesty  to  serve  the  purpose 
of  the  vilest  intrigue.  For,  from  first  to  last,  the  account  of 
what  happened  bears  the  aspect  of  deliberate  intrigue.  Be- 
fore the  first  movement  of  the  dance  was  made  the  price  was 
settled  between  mother  and  daughter,  and  in  their  hands 
Herod  was  but  a  green  withe.  They  knew  what  to  expect. 
The  half-intoxicated  king,  soon  stung  to  madness  by  the 
libertinism  of  the  hour,  exclaimed  with  an  oath  that  the  de- 
graded girl  should  receive  any  reward  she  chose  to  ask. 
The  instant  response  was,  "  Give  me  the  head  of  John  the 
Baptist."  Sobered  now,  and  conscious  of  the  pit  of  infamy 
into  which  he  had  plunged,  the  king  would  have  disputed  the 
request ;  but  it  was  too  late.  A  stronger  man  might  have 
set  aside  his  oath,  counting  it  better  kept  in  the  breach  than 
the  observance ;  but  strength  was  not  to  be  expected  from 
Herod.  Reluctantly  he  gave  the  sign.  Beneath  the  sacred 
Paschal  moonlight,  in  the  courtyard  of  the  prison,  John 
bowed  his  neck  to  the  sword  of  the  Boman  soldier.  The 
horror  of  the  scene  was  consummated  when  the  blood- 
stained head  was  brought  in  upon  a  dish,  and  given  to 
Salome,  who  promptly  laid  it  at  her  mother's  feet. 

It  is  some  satisfaction  to  those  who  still  retain  amid  all 
discouragements  a  faith  in  the  inherent  justice  of  things  to 
know  that  Herod  never  shook  himself  free  from  the  horrors 
of  this  night.     The  ghost  of  John  haunted  him.     When  the 


THF  FALLING  OF  THE  SHADOW    179 

news  of  Christ's  ministry  in  Galilee  came  to  him  lie  exclaims 
in  terror,  "It  is  John  whom  I  beheaded."  The  guilty 
woman,  for  whose  sake  he  slew  a  prophet,  became  his 
Nemesis.  From  that  day  defeat  and  ruin  dogged  his  foot- 
steps. A  detestation  of  his  deed,  which  knew  no  reconcile- 
ment, spread  through  all  the  land.  The  town  and  fortress 
where  John  had  died  became  a  place  abhorred.  And  still 
amid  its  ruins,  where  not  one  stone  is  left  upon  another,  the 
solitary  traveler  thinks  he  hears  the  dying  cry  of  John,  and 
the  wail  of  the  tortured  ghost  of  Herod,  crying  in  vain  for 
"  all  the  perfumes  of  Arabia,"  to  cleanse  the  bloodstained 
hands. 

The  effect  of  this  tragedy  upon  the  mind  of  Christ  was 
very  great.  Overwhelmed  and  saddened,  He  at  once  retired 
into  a  desert  place  for  prayer  and  meditation.  The  second 
year  of  His  ministry  was  now  drawing  to  a  close.  Hitherto, 
in  spite  of  controversy  and  dispute,  His  course  had  been 
happy  and  successful.  A  new  world,  full  of  amity,  benevo- 
lence, and  peace,  seemed  actually  to  have  sprung  up  at  His 
word.  The  entire  regeneration  of  society  by  means  of  truth 
and  charity  seemed  possible.  The  world,  equally  with  Him- 
self, seemed  enamored  of  this  dream  of  a  reconstructed  social 
system,  a  golden  age.  How  could  it  be  that  man  by  his  per- 
versity should  ever  bring  himself  to  reject  prospects  so  en- 
chanting ?  It  seemed  a  thing  impossible.  But  in  these  days 
of  grief  and  solitude  a  more  sombre  truth  revealed  itself. 
The  mask  was  torn  away,  and  the  deep  malevolence  of  human 
nature  confronted  Him  whose  faith  in  human  nature  had 
hitherto  been  so  great.  It  was  not  by  words,  but  by  blood 
alone  that  mankind  could  be  healed.  For  the  first  time  the 
certainty  of  His  own  martyrdom  became  impressed  upon 
His  mind.  Henceforth  He  speaks  much  of  the  Cross,  and 
draws  pictures,  intolerably   painful   to   His  friends,  of  the 


180  THE    LIFE    OF   CHRIST 

things  that  the  Son  of  Man  shall  suffer  at  the  hands  of  evil 
men.  He  proclaims  that  that  man  is  unfitted  to  reform 
society  who  is  not  prepared  to  die  for  it.  The  true  reformer 
is  not  baptized  to  his  work,  save  by  the  baptism  of  His  own 
blood.  It  is  an  agonizing  moment  when  this  severe  truth  is 
first  perceived,  because  it  implies  that  the  highest  qualities 
of  benevolence  are  in  themselves  impotent  to  turn  the  course 
of  human  nature.  But  Jesus  learned  that  truth  thoroughly 
in  the  desert  where  He  meditated  on  the  death  of  John. 
Henceforth  He  speaks  as  one  for  whom  a  violent  death  is 
reserved  and  predetermined. 

The  death  of  John  indirectly  provoked  a  spirit  of  violence 
against  Christ  Himself.  The  pastime  of  making  martyrs  has 
in  all  ages  proved  contagious,  perhaps  upon  the  principle 
that  the  sight  of  means  to  do  ill  deeds  makes  ill  deeds  done. 
A  great  personal  popularity  is  composed  of  many  elements, 
but  the  most  important  is  the  general  conviction  that  it  is 
impregnable.  If  once  this  conviction  is  challenged  a  bold 
malice  may  readily  contrive  a  blow  so  shrewd  that  hence- 
forth a  road  is  left  open  for  the  pernicious  energy  of  every 
malcontent.  Popularity  depends  on  reputation,  reputation 
on  opinion,  and  opinion  on  imagination.  The  death  of  John 
not  only  shocked  the  popular  imagination :  it  disturbed 
opinion.  Men  saw  that  in  spite  of  Herod's  fear  of  the  peo- 
ple he  had  dared  to  ignore  and  flout  them  in  killing  their 
hero,  and  behold  nothing  had  happened.  There  had  been 
no  revolt,  no  national  protest  even ;  the  news  had  been  re- 
ceived in  silence.  Who  could  have  thought  that  he  who, 
but  two  years  before,  had  seemed  the  arbiter  of  a  nation's 
destiny,  could  be  so  easily  annihilated  ?  And  if  John,  why 
not  Jesus  ?  From  that  hour  there  grew  in  many  minds  the 
dangerous  thought  that  Jesus  might  be  easily  overthrown 
when  the  hour  was  ripe,  and  that  no  popularity  could  save 


THE  FALLING  OF  THE  SHADOW    181 

Him  from  an  assault  planned  with  skill  and  executed  with 
sufficient  promptitude  and  boldness. 

For  John  himself  we  need  not  lament.  What  better  fate 
can  happen  to  a  hero  than  to  leave  the  stage  of  action  in  the 
moment  when  his  work  is  done  ?  The  most  tragic  page  in 
the  life  of  many  a  man  of  genius  has  been  that  which  tells 
the  melancholy  history  of  waning  influence,  gradual  deser- 
tion, superseded  methods  and  ideas,  and  unwilling  resigna- 
tion to  a  new  spirit  of  the  time.  The  magnanimity  of  mind 
which  had  at  first  frankly  recognized  the  superiority  of 
Jesus  might  not  always  have  endured  the  strain  of  a  situa- 
tion fruitful  in  elements  of  popular  humiliation.  Had  John 
lived  he  might  have  found  himself  forced  into  hostility  to 
Christ,  or  at  least  into  that  mean  and  odious  rivalry  which 
was  manifest  in  his  disciples.  He  might  have  more  and 
more  misjudged  a  message  and  a  ministry  so  utterly  at 
variance  from  his  own.  The  price  of  any  act  of  supreme 
self-abnegation  is  great,  but  it  is  less  onerous  if  it  can  be 
paid  at  once,  in  one  full  tribute.  It  is  when  the  price  is 
wrung  out  drop  by  drop,  through  years  of  suffering,  that  the 
noblest  heart  may  fail  of  worthiness.  From  this  intolerable 
ordeal  John  was  saved.  He  left  the  world  before  the  corro- 
sion of  defeat  had  time  to  leave  a  stain  upon  his  spirit.  He 
bequeathed  to  men  an  example  of  unique  magnanimity,  per- 
fect virtue,  and  matchless  fortitude.  Well  might  Jesus,  who 
Himself  pronounced  his  elegy,  exclaim  that  among  them 
that  are  born  of  women  there  had  not  risen  a  greater  than 
John  the  Baptist. 

The  entire  relations  between  John  and  Jesus  afford  a 
noble  exposition  of  the  art  of  friendship.  There  is  both 
truth  and  beauty  in  a  certain  famous  anecdote  of  two  great 
men  who  loved  each  other,  "  and  agreed  in  everything  but 
their  opinions  ; "  for  friendship  is  based  not  on  coincidence 


182  THE    LIFE    OF   CHRIST 

of  opinion,  but  on  moral  appreciation.  If  the  friendship 
between  John  and  Jesus  rose  superior  to  all  jealousy  and 
acrimonious  dispute,  it  was  because  it  was  thus  based  upon 
moral  appreciation.  John  might  misread  the  ministry  of 
Jesus,  but  never  the  Divine  beauty  of  His  character.  And 
doubtless  also  there  came  to  him  the  solemn  and  tranquil- 
lizing thought  that  before  very  long  they  would  be  reunited 
in  death,  and  would  be  inheritors  of  the  same  eternal  peace. 
He  who  is  subdued  by  such  a  thought  will  often  ask  himself 
whether  any  kind  of  opinion  is  worth  a  single  angry  word  ? 
He  will  put  a  check  upon  his  tongue,  feeling  how  poor  and 
mean  are  all  disputes  when  confronted  with,  the  immense 
and  catholic  reconcilements  of  the  grave.  The  best  achieve- 
ment of  the  life  of  John  was  not  in  any  influence  he  had 
wielded,  any  task  that  he  had  done ;  it  was  that  he  had  been 
the  Friend  of  Jesus,  and  had  kept  the  chivalry  and  faith  of 
friendship  perfect  to  the  last. 


CHAPTEK  XTV 

A   GREAT   CRISIS 

The  certainty  of  death  either  stupefies  or  invigorates  the 
human  mind.  He  whose  days  are  numbered  will  either  shut 
himself  up  in  the  seclusion  of  a  bitter  melancholy,  or  apply 
his  heart  to  the  great  wisdom  of  using  the  time  that  is  left 
to  a  loftier  purpose.  To  the  honor  of  human  nature  it  may 
be  said  that  the  certainty  of  death  more  frequently  invigor- 
ates than  stupefies.  In  the  really  great  mind  it  produces 
the  sense  of  infinite  tranquillity.  The  worst  is  known,  and 
henceforth  terror  is  disarmed.  The  bitterness  of  death  is 
past,  not  in  the  pang  of  dying,  but  in  its  contemplation. 
The  hero  who  falters  on  his  trial,  and  is  torn  by  a  hundred 
fears,  rarely  fails  to  recover  his  composure  when  his  con- 
demnation is  achieved.  In  His  retirement  to  the  wilderness 
after  the  death  of  John  Jesus  knew  His  real  Gethsemane. 
There  the  true  tears  of  blood  were  shed,  and  the  law  of  sac- 
rifice accepted.  He  returns  to  His  ministry  wTith  the  glow 
of  this  mystic  ardor  of  sacrifice  upon  Him.  Henceforth  His 
speech  strikes  bolder  notes  :  knowing  the  worst  that  man 
can  do,  and  not  fearing  it,  He  counts  the  world  a  conquered 
foe ;  and  in  all  His  actions  there  is  a  certain  tenderness  of 
farewell,  and  a  Divine  composure,  which  pierce  His  disciples 
to  the  heart,  and  at  times  make  them  afraid  of  Him. 

From  the  time  of  John's  death  we  find  the  enemies  of 
Christ  growing  bolder.  Hitherto  they  had  been  sullen  and 
suspicious  rather  than  actively  vindictive  ;  now,  for  the  first 
time,  there  are  signs  of  organized  and  relentless  opposition. 

183 


184  THE    LIFE    OF   CHRIST 

Let  us  recount  who  these  enemies  of  Jesus  were.  First, 
both  in  number  and  influence  stood  the  Pharisees.  It  is  un- 
just to  describe  the  Pharisees  in  terms  of  entire  contempt, 
because  some  of  the  best  as  well  as  the  worst  of  men,  were 
Pharisees.  Nicodemus  was  a  Pharisee ;  so  also  was  Saul 
of  Tarsus ;  and  it  has  even  been  claimed  that  some  of  the 
members  of  Christ's  own  family  were  Pharisees.  The  Phar- 
isee, if  he  could  have  separated  himself  from  the  belittling 
influence  of  a  narrow  view  of  life,  would  have  deserved  the 
gratitude  of  the  world,  for  he  believed  with  intensity  in  the 
moral  government  of  God.  But  he  interpreted  that  govern- 
ment entirely  in  his  own  favor.  He  regarded  the  mass  of 
his  own  nation  much  as  a  proud  Brahmin  regards  persons 
of  a  lower  caste.  The  implicit  speech  ever  on  his  tongue 
was,  "  Stand  thou  aside,  I  am  holier  than  thou !  "  He  was 
above  all  things  a  zealot.  He  stood  for  the  least  jot  and 
tittle  of  the  law.  He  wasted  his  life  in  acquiring  a  kind  of 
learning  which  really  rendered  him  absurd.  His  contempt 
for  any  foreign  culture,  and  indeed  for  all  new  ideas,  was 
rancorous  in  the  extreme.  In  a  word,  he  was  a  violent 
reactionary  of  the  irreconcilable  type,  who  had  nourished  in 
himself,  as  a  kind  of  virtue,  the  temper  that  creates  inquisi- 
tions, and  for  a  word  will  break  men  on  the  wheel. 

The  Pharisees  included  all  kinds  of  people ;  they  were,  in 
fact,  a  society  or  confraternity  eager  to  obtain  adherents  who 
should  propagate  their  views.  The  Sadducees,  on  the  other 
hand,  were  aristocrats.  Theirs  Mas  a  community  of  blood 
rather  than  belief.  Their  faith  in  any  kind  of  Divine  gov- 
ernment was  very  weak.  They  rejected  the  doctrine  of  a 
future  life.  They  were  rich,  and  were  content  to  live  the 
present  life  in  epicurean  fashion.  They  were  content  with 
the  Pvoman  domination  and  astute  enough  to  turn  it  to  their 
own  advantage.     They  despised  all  fervor  and  enthusiasm 


A   GREAT   CRISIS  185 

much  as  the  churchmen  of  the  eighteenth  century  did.  Th< 
question  of  Messiahship  did  not  interest  them  ;  they  had 
long  since  relegated  it  to  the  limbo  of  inscrutable  conun- 
drums. One  may  ask,  What  quarrel  then  could  such  men 
have  with  Jesus  ?  They  quarreled  with  Him  not  as  a  Mes- 
siah, but  as  a  reformer,  and  the  spokesman  of  the  poor 
Mere  "  views  "  ou  speculative  truth  they  could  afford  to  tret 
with  scorn ;  but  their  supercilious  disdain  broke  down  before 
doctrines  that  sowed  the  seeds  of  social  revolution.  It  may 
be  interpreted  either  to  their  favor  or  their  disfavor  that  they 
took  no  active  part  in  the  conspiracy  against  the  life  of 
Christ.  They  had  not  enough  belief  in  any  truth,  or  any 
seeming  truth,  to  persecute  an  error.  But  not  the  less  they 
wished  Christ  ill,  and  were  well  pleased  to  see  others  do  the 
work  which  they  were  too  indifferent  or  too  proud  to  do 
themselves. 

To  these  powerful  parties  were  added  three  others.  The 
Herodians  represented  the  astute  worldly  policy  of  Herod, 
and  perhaps  his  lax  views  of  conduct.  "Beware  of  the 
leaven  of  Herod  "  said  Jesus,  thus  challenging  their  enmity. 
The  Herodians,  in  so  far  as  they  had  any  definite  programme, 
sought  to  Romanize  completely  Jewish  life  and  thought. 
They  were  politicians,  who  desired  before  all  things  to  stand 
well  with  the  ruling  power.  The  scribes  and  lawyers  so 
often  mentioned  in  the  controversies  of  Christ,  constituted  a 
professional  class  of  great  influence.  The  scribes  were  re- 
sponsible for  the  preservation  of  the  national  literature,  doc- 
tors and  professors  of  theology,  who  in  an  intensely  religious 
nation  soon  acquired  great  authority.  The  lawyer  was,  as 
the  term  implies,  a  professor  of  Jewish  jurisprudence  ;  but 
as  that  jurisprudence  was  founded  on  religious  sanctions  he 
was  also  deeply  learned  in  theology.  If  no  sweeping  con- 
demnation can  be  passed  upon  the  Pharisees,  neither  can  it 


186  THE    LIFE    OF   CHRIST 

on  the  scribes  and  lawyers,  and  for  the  same  reason.  They 
included  both  good  and  bad  men ;  the  thoughtful  student, 
the  bitter  pedant,  the  unscrupulous  practitioner.  It  was  to 
a  man,  who  is  described  by  one  Evangelist  as  a  scribe,  by 
another  as  a  lawyer,  that  Jesus  said,  "  Thou  art  not  far  from 
the  kingdom  of  God."  But  it  is  easy  to  see  that  this  class 
as  a  whole  would  have  good  ground  for  making  common 
cause  against  Jesus.  They  could  not  but  feel  the  prejudice 
of  learning  against  an  untaught  Galilean ;  they  could  not 
but  regard  His  whole  mission  as  presumptuous  in  the  ex- 
treme. The  success  of  that  mission  was  a  menace  to  their 
authority  and  privileges.  They  formed  a  corporation  or 
trades  union  of  formidable  power.  It  would  have  been  con- 
trary to  human  nature  if  such  men  had  not  indulged  in  that 
acrimony  of  feeling,  that  tendency  to  aspersion  and  contemp- 
tuous criticism,  which  the  authorized  practitioner  always 
feels  toward  the  unauthorized  even  in  the  most  indulgent 
systems  of  society. 

But  we  may  take  much  wider  ground  than  this.  No  one 
ever  studies  Jewish  history  without  feeling  that  the  Jew  is 
the  great  enigma  of  creation.  An  innate  perversity  of  na- 
ture, driving  him  at  times  by  what  seems  an  ineluctable  de- 
cree to  the  wildest  excesses  of  fanaticism  and  folly,  is  the 
one  outstanding  characteristic  of  this  strange  creature  of 
which  we  may  be  sure.  A  sort  of  insane  genius  at  times 
rules  his  conduct,  compelling  in  almost  equal  degrees  won- 
der and  disgust.  He  is  impracticable,  childish,  absurd,  and 
yet  at  the  same  time  capable  of  the  loftiest  thoughts  and 
deeds.  Of  that  masculine  and  sober  judgment  which  knows 
how  to  govern  well,  and  so  to  build  up  national  power,  he 
shows  no  trace.  We  see  him  wearing  out  by  complaint  and 
importunity  all  who  have  ever  tried  to  govern  him,  until  we 
share  the  exasperation  he  never  fails  to  create ;  and  then  he 


A    GREAT   CRISIS  187 

suddenly  compels  our  admiration  by  the  heroic  stoicism  with 
which  he  endures  the  fearful  martyrdoms  which  he,  and  no 
other,  has  brought  upon  his  race.  He  knows  not  how  to 
avert  these  calamities;  they  appear  to  be  his  fate.  With 
the  most  righteous  cause  to  plead,  he  either  pleads  it  at  the 
wrong  time  or  in  the  wrong  way,  so  that  redress  is  made  im- 
possible. He  is  humble  when  boldness  is  required,  astute 
when  plain  speech  alone  can  serve  him,  subtle  when  the 
hour  for  subtlety  has  passed.  There  is  something  barbar- 
ous in  him,  some  strain  of  the  Egyptian  brickfield,  which 
has  never  been  eliminated.  Gentle,  humble,  almost  cringing 
as  he  may  appear,  yet  the  embers  of  the  deadliest  rage  burn 
in  him,  and  they  are  easily  fanned  into  a  flame.  And  it  is 
over  questions  of  speculative  truth  or  falsehood  that  his  rage 
burns  hottest.  Political  subjection  he  can  bear,  but  an  in- 
sult to  some  cherished  theological  idea  exasperates  him  into 
madness.  Indignities  and  bitter  insults  leave  him  unmoved ; 
but  hidden  in  that  strange  heart,  which  no  one  has  ever  yet 
explored,  are  sublime  ideas,  and  even  pedantries,  for  which 
he  will  shed  his  blood  or  exterminate  his  brethren.  The 
contradictions  of  his  character  are  infinite  ;  who  shall  meas- 
ure either  the  nature  of  his  love  or  his  antipathies  ?  One 
thing  only  is  seen  with  clearness  by  the  student  of  the  life 
of  Christ :  it  is  that  Christ  never  had  a  chance  with  such  a 
nation.  It  was  impossible  they  should  receive  Him.  He 
was  an  offence  to  them  in  all  His  thoughts,  His  words, 
His  acts.  He  stands  so  utterly  opposed  to  Jewish  life  that 
it  is  painful  even  to  think  of  Jesus  as  a  Jew. 

For  the  worst  of  these  characteristics  the  Temple  was  re- 
sponsible. The  race  that  had  produced  a  David,  a  Solomon, 
an  Isaiah,  that  even  in  the  days  of  Christ  could  boast  a 
Hillel,  full  of  gentleness  and  charity,  and  the  model  of  all 
that  a  sage  should  be,  must  have  had  some  great  qualities 


188  THE    LIFE    OF   CHRIST 

of  mind  and  heart.  It  had,  and  we  see  these  finer  qualities 
reappearing  in  the  ardor  and  simplicity  of  characters  like 
John's  and  Peter's.  But  it  was  the  Jerusalem  Jew  who 
really  ruled  the  nation.  It  was  he  who  was  narrow,  bitter, 
intolerant,  and  impermeable  to  new  ideas.  The  Temple, 
which  overshadowed  all  the  city,  also  overshadowed  all  the 
nation.  It  was  the  centre  of  just  that  kind  of  fanaticism 
which  is  encouraged  in  the  mosques  of  Mohammed,  and  in  its 
method  of  subtle  intrigue  and  espionage  it  recalls  the  secret 
chambers  of  the  Inquisition.  If  we  may  anticipate  the 
course  of  history,  we  may  recollect  that  it  was  not  until  the 
Temple  was  finally  destroyed  that  Christianity  found  room 
to  spread  its  roots.  But  in  the  days  of  Christ  the  Temple 
was  supreme,  and  its  destruction  seemed  impossible.  Here 
all  the  bigotry  and  obstinate  perversity  of  Jewish  character 
were  entrenched.  The  scribes  and  doctors  of  the  law  who 
dogged  the  steps  of  Christ  throughout  His  Galilean  ministry 
had  received  their  training  in  its  courts,  and  had  taken  the 
mandate  of  espionage  from  its  officials.  And  so,  as  we  now 
follow  the  controversies  which  fill  the  latter  days  of  Christ, 
we  see  perpetually  that  behind  them  all  the  influences  of  the 
Temple  are  at  work.  These  men  pester  Him  with  questions, 
try  to  entrap  Him  in  His  talk,  and  work  out  His  downfall 
with  a  stealthy  and  indefatigable  hatred.  Blind  to  all  that 
is  admirable  in  His  teaching,  blinder  still  to  all  the  beauty 
of  His  character,  bigots  by  nature,  spies  by  choice,  incapable 
of  real  argument,  insensible  to  either  truth  or  reason,  these 
Temple  Jews  sow  the  seeds  of  dissension  wherever  they  are 
found,  and  make  it  the  business  of  their  lives  to  contrive  His 
defamation  and  His  death. 

What  were  those  controversies?  The  first  was  one  to 
which  ample  reference  has  been  already  made — the  contro- 
versy over  ritual  and  tradition.     It  was  no  new  controversy ; 


A    GREAT    CRISIS  189 

it  had  been  conducted  for  many  centuries  by  the  noblest  and 
most  enlightened  of  Hebrew  minds.  Had  not  the  greatest 
of  all  Hebrew  prophets  declared  in  words  which  held  the 
true  germ  of  Christianity  itself,  that  God  was  weary  of  the 
multitude  of  sacrifices  and  burnt  offerings  :  "  Bring  no  more 
vain  oblations,  incense  is  an  abomination  unto  Me  ;  the  new 
moons  and  sabbaths,  the  calling  of  assemblies,  I  cannot  away 
with  :  it  is  iniquity,  even  the  solemn  meeting ;  your  new 
moons  and  your  appointed  feasts  My  soul  hateth  "  ?  Had 
not  one  of  the  best  of  Hebrew  kings  broken  the  brazen  ser- 
pent of  Moses,  when  he  found  it  was  an  object  of  supersti- 
tious reverence,  and  said  with  scorn,  "It  is  Nehustan — a 
piece  of  brass "  ?  But  in  spite  of  the  noble  iconoclasm  of 
Hezekiah,  and  the  spiritual  testament  of  Isaiah,  ritual  and 
tradition  remained  the  idols  of  the  Jewish  mind.  Respect 
for  tradition,  and  the  minute  observance  of  ritual,  everywhere 
passed  for  piety.  In  vain  had  the  Sermon  on  the  Mount 
been  preached ;  it  had  enlightened  none  but  a  few  simple 
Galileans.  In  vain  had  a  hundred  great  teachings  on  con- 
duct been  uttered ;  orthodoxy  was  still  considered  of  more 
value  than  virtue.  Christ  saw  clearly  that  it  was  by  such 
perversions  of  the  spirit  that  nations  perish.  When  He  re- 
turned from  His  retreat  it  was  to  preach  with  yet  more 
clamant  emphasis  the  gospel  of  Isaiah.  "Well  did  Esaias 
prophesy  of  you,"  He  cried,  "  This  people  draw  nigh  unto 
Me  with  their  mouth,  and  honoreth  Me  with  their  lips,  but 
their  heart  is  far  from  Me."  It  was  not  by  the  washing  of 
hands,  but  by  the  cleansing  of  the  heart  that  men  pleased 
God.  It  was  the  heart  that  harbored  all  these  evil  passions 
from  which  murders,  adulteries,  and  fornications  spring. 
And  then  followed  one  of  those  epigrams  upon  the  Pharisees 
which  could  be  neither  forgiven  nor  forgotten :  What  are 
they,  He  cried,  but  "  blind  leaders  of  the  blind  ?     And  if  the 


190  THE    LIFE    OF   CHRIST 

blind  lead  the  blind  they  shall  both  fall  into  the  ditch  !  "  It 
is  not  surprising  that  the  Pharisees  were  "  offended  "  when 
they  heard  this  saying.  It  struck  at  the  root  of  all  that 
pedantic  formalism  which  they  had  created  in  place  of  relig- 
ion, and  it  covered  them  with  ridicule.  Henceforth  this 
controversy  is  to  wax  more  and  more  acute,  till  in  the  heat 
of  His  indignation  Christ  exclaims,  "Woe  unto  ye  scribes 
and  Pharisees,  hypocrites !  Ye  serpents,  ye  generation  of 
vipers,  how  can  ye  escape  the  damnation  of  hell  ?  "  Here  is 
surely  the  very  voice  of  the  slain  Forerunner ;  not  in  vain 
had  Jesus  meditated  on  the  death  of  John,  for  He  comes 
back  from  His  retirement  to  utter  in  words  of  flame  the  very 
declamations  of  the  Baptist. 

From  this  controversy  there  naturally  sprang  another  upon 
Christ's  own  freedom  of  life.  Here  the  hatred  of  the  zealot 
for  what  seemed  laxity,  of  the  conventionally  respectable  for 
what  seemed  disreputable,  of  the  orthodox  formalist  for  what 
seemed  heresy,  mingled  in  a  common  focus  of  vengeful  dis- 
gust. "What  could  be  thought  of  one  who  treated  the  Sab- 
bath, that  tyrannous  fetish  of  Jewish  piety,  with  the  freedom 
of  a  pagan  and  freethinker  ?  How  could  the  Jew,  suppliant 
in  the  still  narrower  fetish-worship  of  respectability,  bring 
himself  to  think  without  anger  of  the  kind  of  persons  with 
whom  Christ  deliberately  associated?  What  could  the 
orthodox  formalist  think  of  one  who  disregarded  all  cere- 
monial acts,  even  the  washing  of  hands  before  meat,  as 
though  He  sought  to  give  offence,  and  to  pour  ridicule  on 
the  scruples  which  good  men  held  sacred  ?  To  an  enlight- 
ened mind  these  questions  appear  trivial,  but  they  are  not 
trivial  in  narrow  pietistic  societies.  The  Pilgrim  Fathers, 
and  the  straiter  sects  of  Puritans,  afford  us  relatively  modern 
examples  of  the  kind  of  scruples  which  may  render  life  in- 
tolerable to  a  man  of  unconventional  habits.     It  is  no  un- 


A    GREAT   CRISIS  191 

usual  thing  even  in  our  time  to  find  offences  against  decorum 
treated  with  a  harsher  punishment  than  offences  against 
virtue.  Jesus  offended  the  etiquette  of  Judaism  at  every 
point.  The  Sabbath  law  He  disregarded,  and  when  chal- 
lenged replied  with  irony,  referring  His  antagonists  to  the 
example  of  David  who  ate  the  shew-bread,  or  to  the  casuis- 
tries— in  this  case  merciful — which  they  used  to  justify  the 
rescue  on  the  Sabbath-day  of  the  ass  which  had  fallen  into 
the  pit.  He  defended  His  association  with  the  poor  and  dis- 
reputable on  the  most  offensive  of  all  grounds,  that  they 
were  more  disposed  to  good  than  the  respectable ;  the  harlots 
and  publicans  entered  into  the  Kingdom  of  God,  while  the 
children  of  the  Kingdom  were  cast  out.  The  stricter  Phari- 
see sanctimoniously  turned  his  face  to  the  wall  to  avoid  the 
very  sight  of  a  woman ;  Jesus  was  surrounded  with  women, 
some  of  whom  had  borne  indifferent  characters.  All  classes 
of  society  avoided  the  publican  like  a  plague ;  Jesus  had 
even  made  a  publican  one  of  His  disciples.  Jewish  life  was 
lived  in  a  sort  of  social  seraglio,  with  a  hundred  devices  to 
prevent  all  contact  with  the  world ;  Christ  lived  in  the  open 
air,  met  all  men  freely,  and  took  life  in  gladness  of  heart. 
Here  were  disparities  indeed,  and  they  were  irreconcilable. 

These  were  serious  offences,  calculated  to  arouse  a  host  of 
foes ;  but  a  far  more  serious  offence  was  Christ's  virtual 
abrogation  of  the  law  of  Moses.  The  various  statements  of 
Christ  about  the  Mosaic  law  appear  contradictory.  At  one 
time  He  declares  He  has  not  come  to  destroy  the  law  but  to 
fulfil  it ;  at  another  time  He  opposes  to  the  great  authority 
of  Moses  His  own  yet  greater  authority :  "  But  I  say." 
The  explanation  lies  in  the  rapid  expansion  of  Christ's  spir- 
itual ideas,  and  in  His  increasing  consciousness  of  His  own 
relation  to  God  as  a  Son.  He  could  not  be  wholly  hostile  to 
a  religious  system  which  marked  a  most  important  stage  in 


192  THE    LIFE    OF   CHRIST 

the  spiritual  evolution  of  mankind.  But  His  ministry  has 
gone  but  a  very  little  way  before  He  perceives  that  the  law 
of  Moses  is  incommensurate  with  His  expanding  spiritual 
ideas.  He  who  had  so  soon  climbed  beyond  the  Baptist  on 
those  heavenly  steeps  which  command  the  widening  vision 
of  truth,  finds  Himself  before  long  at  an  altitude  from  which 
Moses  himself  seems  dwarfed.  He  is  looking  down  upon  a 
finished  and  outdated  economy,  and  He  begins  to  speak  with 
the  accent  of  superiority.  An  instance  of  this  temper  is  af- 
forded us  in  the  series  of  events  which  followed  immediately 
upon  the  death  of  John.  It  was  undoubtedly  at  this  time 
that  Christ  fed  the  multitude,  but  astonishing  as  the  story  is, 
it  is  less  astonishing  than  the  discourse  which  He  bases  on 
it.  It  was  natural  that  the  Jewish  mind,  saturated  with  the 
spirit  of  historic  allusion,  should  link  this  miracle  with  the 
story  of  the  manna  with  which  Moses  fed  the  people  in  the 
wilderness.  Jesus  accepts  the  challenge  thus  boldly  offered 
Him.  "  What  sign  shewest  thou  that  we  may  see  and  be- 
lieve thee  ?  "  is  the  question  of  the  people.  "  Our  fathers 
were  fed  with  bread  from  heaven ;  what  dost  thou  work  ?  " 
The  reply  of  Jesus  was  so  extraordinary  that  it  must  have 
left  His  hearers  breathless  with  surprise.  "I  am  the  bread 
of  life,"  He  answered ;  "  he  that  cometh  to  Me  shall  never 
hunger,  and  he  that  believeth  on  Me  shall  never  thirst." 
"Were  some  newcomer  into  the  arena  of  philosophy  or  politics 
calmly  to  announce  that  all  the  wisdom  of  the  past  was 
elaborate  folly,  all  the  etiquette  of  debate  a  cumbrous  ab- 
surdity, we  can  imagine  the  anger  and  derision  which  such  a 
challenge  would  excite.  But  such  an  illustration  affords  but 
a  superficial  picture  of  the  kind  of  rage  with  which  the  Jew 
received  these  statements  of  Jesus.  The  presumption  of  the 
speaker  seemed  intolerable,  His  arrogance  unpardonable. 
Even  His  disciples  murmured,  and  said,  "This  is  a  hard 


A   GREAT   CRISIS  193 

sa}Tmg ;  who  can  hear  it  ?  "  Nor  did  the  qualification  which 
Jesns  attached  to  it — that  it  was  transcendental  not  literal — 
help  matters.  What  was  clear  to  every  mind  was  that  Christ 
had  made  for  Himself  a  claim  so  tremendous  that  if  it  could 
be  allowed  the  sceptre  had  been  wrested  from  the  hand  of 
Moses  once  and  for  ever ;  if  it  could  not  be  allowed — and 
who  indeed  could  allow  the  claim  in  one  whom  men  knew 
as  the  Son  of  a  carpenter  at  Nazareth  ? — the  affront  offered 
to  the  national  religion  was  too  deliberate  for  forgiveness. 

Thus  a  fourth  great  controversy  began  upon  the  person  of 
Christ.  He  refuses  to  be  ranked  with  John  the  Baptist, 
with  Elijah,  or  even  with  Moses.  His  daily  addresses  to  the 
people  become  full  of  mystic  references  to  Himself.  He 
claims  an  intimate  and  special  mandate  from  heaven.  He 
feels  God  moving  and  breathing  in  Him,  so  that  His  own 
words  and  acts  are  indistingiiishable  from  the  words  and 
acts  of  God.  He  perceives  His  nature  wrought  to  such  per- 
fection that  it  is  merged  in  the  very  life  of  God,  and  is  part 
of  the  unimaginable  Divine  perfection.  St.  John  tells  us  in 
specific  language  that  the  Jews  sought  to  kill  Him,  not  only 
because  He  had  broken  the  Sabbath,  but  because  He  had 
said  "  that  God  was  His  Father,  making  Himself  equal  with 
God."  They  might  have  remembered  that  even  their  own 
poets  and  prophets  had  spoken  of  God  as  a  Father,  and  that 
parentage  must  imply  some  similarity,  and  even  a  real  iden- 
tity, of  nature.  They  might  have  turned  to  their  own  scrip- 
tures, and  have  found  the  Divine  charter  of  the  human  race 
in  the  great  saying  that  God  had  created  man  in  His  own 
image,  and  after  His  own  likeness.  But  these  truths  ap- 
peared transcendental,  and  therefore  of  no  accurate  signifi- 
cance to  the  ordinary  mind.  Men  in  general  show  them- 
selves indifferent  to  questions  of  their  origin  and  destiny, 
and  forego  their  heavenly  birthright,  if  such  exists,  without 
13 


194  THE   LIFE   OF   CHRIST 

a  pang.  When  this  is  the  case,  the  attempt  to  claim  what 
they  reject  appears  a  presumption  and  a  blasphemy.  More- 
over, Christ  made  the  claim  in  terms  so  definite  that  men  of 
ordinary  mind  were  startled,  and  men  of  conventional  piety 
were  shocked  and  horrified.  "  The  Son  can  do  nothing  of 
Himself,"  He  said,  "  but  what  He  seeth  the  Father  do ;  for 
whatsoever  things  God  doeth,  these  also  doeth  the  Son  like- 
wise." This  could  only  mean  that  Christ  spoke  and  acted 
for  God.  He  and  the  Father  were  one.  The  life  of  God, 
hidden  in  eternal  secrecy,  was  projected  on  a  screen,  so  to 
speak  ;  and  men  saw  that  very  life  lived  before  their  eyes. 
The  unutterable  was  uttered ;  the  formless  and  unthinkable 
took  form  ;  the  true  Shekinah,  symbol  of  all  sacred  mystery, 
stood  revealed  in  a  man. 

"  Strange  delusion  of  the  God-inebriated  idealist ! "  ex- 
claims the  rationalist.  "  Its  very  sublimity  should  have 
saved  it  from  attack,  and  certainly  from  contempt ;  for  it  is 
by  such  fine  excesses  that  human  nature  transcends  its 
bounds,  and  scales  the  heavens  !  "  But  if  it  were  delusion, 
it  is  a  delusion  that  has  deceived  successfully  the  whole 
world.  Those  who  study  the  actual  life  of  Christ  cannot 
count  these  claims  extravagant.  On  nothing  is  mankind  so 
well  agreed  as  that  the  life  of  Christ  gives  the  only  concrete 
expression  the  world  has  ever  witnessed  of  the  Divine  benig- 
nity and  purity.  If  Jesus  was  not  afraid  thus  to  make  Him- 
self equal  with  God,  God  need  not  have  been  ashamed  to 
become  the  equal  of  Jesus ;  for  if  God  can  be  conceived  as 
living  in  the  limits  of  this  mortal  life  at  all,  He  would  cer- 
tainly have  lived  as  Jesus  lived.  How  we  may  define  the 
nature  and  the  limits  of  divinity  as  interpreted  in  Christ  is 
of  small  moment,  when  we  recollect  the  testimony  of  the 
greatest  minds  that  it  is  only  through  Jesus  that  they  can 
conceive  of  God  at  all.     But  it  was  scarcely  to  be  expected 


A    GREAT   CRISIS  195 

of  the  Jew  that  he  receive  this  witness  of  Christ  to  Himself 
without  resentment.  No  visible  perfection  of  conduct  could 
dissipate  the  sense  of  blasphemy  in  such  words  as  these. 
No  Divine  beauty  of  character  could  atone  for  them.  He 
was  the  true  Light,  but  the  Light  shone  in  darkness,  and  the 
darkness  comprehended  it  not. 

From  the  moment  when  Christ  returned  from  His  retreat 
after  the  Baptist's  death,  those  controversies  gathered  round 
Him,  ever  widening  their  dimensions  and  increasing  in  in- 
tensity. Already  His  ascension  into  heaven  had  begun. 
More  and  more  He  soars  into  ideal  heights,  where  the  wing 
of  human  thought  beats  the  difficult  air  in  vain.  His  own 
disciples  pass  through  many  phases  of  doubt,  of  thrilling 
awe,  of  trembling  faith.  They  see  by  gleams  and  flashes  the 
windings  of  a  road  that  is  perilous  with  darkness.  Even  in 
His  beloved  Capernaum  doubt  and  disaffection  sow  their 
fatal  seeds.  The  lake  He  loves  contents  Him  no  more ; 
Chorazin  and  Bethsaida  are  places  which  He  hereafter 
doomed  to  sorrow  for  their  misappreciation  of  the  wonders 
wrought  in  them.  He  turns  to  the  pagan  populations  with 
a  sense  of  relief.  It  is  at  this  time  that  He  makes  His  only 
journey  into  the  coasts  of  Tyre  and  Sidon.  He  perceives 
more  and  more  clearly  that  the  Gentile  mind  is  less  hostile 
to  Him  than  the  mind  of  His  own  countrymen ;  that  the 
Jews  will  prove  His  destruction,  and  that  the  Gentiles  will 
atone  to  Him  hereafter  for  the  wrongs  wrought  upon  Him 
by  the  natural  children  of  the  Kingdom,  who  know  not  their 
King.  Profound  prevision !  Even  so  has  it  been.  Not  in 
Jerusalem,  but  in  Antioch,  and  Ephesus,  and  Borne,  are  the 
foundations  of  the  future  Kingdom  laid  secure ;  and  with 
the  death  of  Jesus  the  Jew  disappears  from  history.  By 
one  sign  only  do  we  know  him,  his  invincible  hostility  to 
the  greatest  of  his  race ;  and,  merged  into  the  life  of  many 


196  THE    LIFE    OF   CHRIST 

nations,  adopting  their  ideas  and  putting  on  the  raiment  of 
their  civilization,  this  invincible  hostility  remains  unaltered. 
Surely  the  saddest  journey  Jesus  ever  took  was  this  exodus 
into  the  coasts  of  Tyre  and  Sidon.  But  it  was  the  way  His 
Gospel  was  to  travel :  ever  westward,  leaving  the  East  to  its 
slumber  and  its  ruin ;  calling  on  a  new  world  to  redress  the 
balance  of  the  old,  till  at  last  paganism  accepts  with  joy  the 
gift  rejected  by  the  Jew,  and  after  three  centuries  of  conflict 
and  of  martyrdom  the  Roman  eagles  fall  before  the  new 
symbol  of  the  Cross  of  Christ. 


CHAPTER  XV 

THE   AFFIRMATION   OF   GOD'S   BENIGNITY 

The  district  in  which  Jesus  now  found  Himself  presented 
strong  contrasts  to  the  district  He  had  left.  It  was  almost 
entirely  pagan,  and  the  Jewish  population  was  sparse.  Tyre 
was  a  great  maritime  city,  distinguished  by  its  wealth  and 
luxury,  which  had  repeatedly  aroused  the  ire  of  the  Hebrew 
prophets.  Sidon  also  was  a  metropolis  of  commerce,  abound- 
ing in  the  days  of  Christ  with  many  splendid  monuments  of 
Greek  and  Roman  art.  It  was  among  the  rock-sepulchres 
of  Sidon  that  there  was  recently  discovered  the  sarcophagus 
of  Alexander  the  Great,  which  is  the  noblest  and  most  per- 
fect specimen  of  Greek  sepulchral  art  which  the  world  pos- 
sesses. Both  cities  were  delightfully  situated.  Tyre  is  ap- 
proached from  the  east  by  wild  mountain  passes  of  Alpine 
dignity  and  grandeur.  Sidon  reposes  under  the  immediate 
shelter  of  the  mountain  heights  of  Lebanon.  The  plain  that 
lies  between  Lebanon  and  the  sea  is  of  inimitable  richness 
and  fertility.  Along  this  plain  Christ  traveled,  looking  for 
the  first  time  on  the  impressive  spectacle  of  a  pagan  life,  full 
of  frivolity  and  pleasure,  and  unrestrained  by  those  gloomy 
elements  of  fanaticism  which  appeared  wherever  the  Jew 
prevailed.  It  was  a  land  of  pleasure,  fanned  by  the  soft 
Mediterranean  breezes  and  the  mountain  airs  of  Lebanon ; 
cheerful,  too,  with  the  hum  of  prosperous  toil :  a  land  of 
streams,  and  groves,  and  fairy  gardens,  of  palaces  and  villas, 
filled  with  a  gay  and  eager  race,  whose  energy  in  commerce 
had  drawn  the  spoils  of  Europe  and  of  Asia  to  their  shores. 

197 


198  THE    LIFE    OF   CHRIST 

Not  yet  bad  that  day  come,  long  ago  foretold  by  the  Hebrew- 
prophet,  when  "  they  shall  break  down  the  towers  of  Tyrus, 
and  make  her  like  the  top  of  a  rock ;  it  shall  be  a  place  for 
the  spreading  of  nets  in  the  midst  of  the  sea ;  they  shall  lay 
thy  pleasant  houses,  thy  stones  and  thy  timbers  in  the  midst 
of  the  water ;  and  the  sound  of  thy  harps  shall  be  no  more 
heard."  Besieged  in  turn  by  every  conqueror  from  Shal- 
manesser  to  Alexander,  and  often  laid  in  ruins,  Tyre  still  re- 
tained her  dignity,  and  was,  with  the  exception  of  Jerusalem, 
the  most  imposing  city  Christ  had  ever  seen. 

What  were  the  thoughts  of  Jesus  as  He  passed  through 
this  region,  filled  with  people  of  a  strange  tongue,  whose 
whole  method  of  thought  and  life  was  so  different  from  any 
that  He  had  seen  in  Galilee  ?  We  have  but  one  incident  to 
guide  us.  A  certain  Syro-Phcenician  woman  came  to  Him  be- 
seeching Him  to  exercise  His  marvelous  power  in  curing  her 
daughter  of  one  of  those  forms  of  hysteric  disease  so  com- 
mon in  the  East.  She  was  a  purely  pagan  woman  and  an 
alien.  Matthew  gives  an  almost  vindictive  sharpness  to  this 
fact  by  calling  her  "  a  woman  of  Canaan."  The  disciples, 
including  Matthew  himself,  were  offended  by  the  importunity 
with  which  she  followed  Christ,  and  were  far  from  realizing 
that  need  speaks  a  common  language.  Here,  then,  was 
an  excellent  opportunity  for  Christ  to  put  into  practice 
the  new  conviction  which  had  filled  His  mind  that 
henceforth  His  path  of  conquest  lay  among  the  Gen- 
tiles. It  is  true  that  He  had  already  shown  Himself 
well  disposed  to  Roman  officials,  but  these,  by  right  of  con- 
quest, had  become  in  a  sense  members  of  the  Jewish  nation. 
The  case  of  this  woman  was  wholly  different.  She  belonged 
to  a  race  which  the  Jew  had  been  commanded  to  destroy, 
and  the  corruptions  of  the  old  idolatry  still  flowed  in  her 
blood.     If  she  possessed  any  religion  at  all,  it  was  probably 


AFFIRMATION  OF  GOD'S  BENIGNITY  199 

some  base  admixture  of  old  idolatrous  superstition  with  the 
more  modem  paganism  of  Greece  and  Rome. 

The  words  which  Jesus  uses  to  the  woman  are  ironical  and 
enigmatic.  He  knows  precisely  the  kind  of  thoughts  which 
are  in  the  minds  of  His  disciples,  and  He  apparently  adopts 
them  for  His  own,  in  order  to  expose  their  meanness  and 
absurdity.  It  is  a  method  of  instruction  often  used  by  the 
great  ironists,  who  have  sometimes  mimicked  the  language 
of  an  antagonist  with  such  fidelity  that  they  have  been  ac- 
cused of  teaching  the  very  errors  which  they  denounced. 
But  as  it  is  only  the  illiterate  who  can  take  the  ironies  of  a 
Swift  for  serious  propositions,  so  it  is  only  the  undiscrimi- 
nating  who  will  fail  to  see  that  in  this  incident  Jesus  is 
adopting  language  not  His  own,  in  order  to  reveal  the  pov- 
erty of  thought  and  sympathy  in  His  disciples.  Briefly 
paraphrased  the  conversation  is  as  follows  :  "  I  am  not  sent 
but  unto  the  lost  sheep  of  the  house  of  Israel,"  He  remarks. 
"  This  is  what  you  think  of  Me  and  of  My  mission.  So  be 
it ;  let  us  see  how  far  this  definition  can  be  pressed  in  the 
presence  of  this  woman,  and  her  need.  I  will  say  to  her 
what  you  would  say,  and  what  you  would  wish  me  to  say : 
'  Woman,  trouble  me  not ;  My  charity  is  not  for  you ;  it  is 
not  meet  to  take  the  children's  bread,  and  cast  it  unto  dogs ! ' 
You  are  not  ashamed  of  such  a  sentiment ;  have  you  no 
shame  or  surprise  when  you  hear  Me  utter  it  ?  But  let  us 
hear  Avhat  the  woman  herself  will  say  to  this  illiberal  doc- 
trine." And  with  a  quick  glance  of  triumph  the  woman 
makes  her  retort,  giving  back  irony  for  irony,  wit  for  wit. 
"  Truth,  Lord,"  she  cries,  "  yet  the  dogs  eat  of  the  crumbs 
which  fall  from  their  masters'  tables  !  "  Humility  can  hardly 
sink  lower,  faith  can  hardly  rise  higher.  "  0  woman,  great 
is  thy  faith,"  Christ  replies ;  "  bo  it  unto  thee  even  as  thou  wilt. 
And  her  daughter  was  made  whole  from  that  very  hour," 


200  THE    LIFE    OF    CHRIST 

If  Jesus  had  desired  some  corroboration  of  tins  new  idea 
which  had  filled  His  mind  of  the  superior  worthiness  of  the 
Gentiles  to  receive  His  message,  He  found  it  in  this  inci- 
dent. This  entire  mission  in  the  coasts  of  Tyre  and  Sidon 
confirmed  Him  in  this  belief.  He  found  everywhere  a  recep- 
tiveness  of  mind  to  new  ideas,  strange  and  welcome,  after 
the  hostile  intractability  of  His  Jewish  critics.  When  the 
hour  comes  for  Him  to  take  farewell  of  Galilee,  the  happy 
memories  of  these  days  amoug  the  pagans  still  glow  in  His 
mind.  "  If  the  mighty  works  that  have  been  done  in  Caper- 
naum, had  been  done  in  Tyre  and  Sidon,  they  had  repented 
long  ago  in  sackcloth  and  ashes,"  He  exclaims  in  sad  re- 
proach. Henceforth  the  hated  doctrine  of  the  substitution 
of  the  Gentiles  for  the  Jews  as  the  new  custodians  of  spirit- 
ual ideas,  takes  definite  and  final  shape.  He  speaks  of  Him- 
self in  terrible  language  as  sent  that  "  They  that  see  might 
not  see,  and  that  they  that  see  might  be  made  blind."  He  de- 
scribes the  Jews  as  the  leaseholders  of  a  vineyard  to  whom 
the  real  owner  sends  various  servants  to  collect  the  rent,  and 
last  of  all  his  own  son ;  but  they  are  all  s±ain  in  turn,  so  that 
the  owner  of  the  vineyard  lets  out  his  vineyard  to  "  other 
husbandmen  which  shall  render  him  the  fruits  in  their  sea- 
sons." Nor  does  He  always  conceal  His  meaning  under 
parables.  He  describes  Himself  as  a  stone  rejected  by  the 
builders,  which  is  taken  by  other  builders  with  a  juster 
knowledge  of  its  worth,  who  make  it  the  head  of  the  corner 
in  the  new  temple  of  humanity  which  is  growing  into  shape. 
And  in  language  yet  more  positive  and  menacing  He  boldly 
declares  to  the  Jews,  "The  Kingdom  of  God  shall  be  taken 
from  you,  and  given  unto  a  nation  bringing  forth  the  fruits 
thereof."  Dangerous  words  indeed,  full  of  provocation ;  but 
how  truly  wonderful  in  their  foreknowledge  of  the  future ! 
But  a  few  short  years  have  passed,  and  to  the  Jews  of  a 


AFFIRMATION  OF  GOD'S  BENIGNITY  201 

great  city  of  this  very  coast  Paul  makes  a  public  declara- 
tion which  settles  the  course  and  fortunes  of  Christianity  for 
all  future  generations.  "It  was  necessary  that  the  word  of 
God  should  first  have  been  spoken  unto  you ;  but  seeing  ye 
put  it  from  you,  and  judge  yourself  unworthy  of  eternal  life, 
lo  !  we  turn  to  the  Gentiles." 

Such  Avords  on  other  lips  than  Christ's  would  no  doubt 
suggest  the  spirit  of  retaliation.  It  is,  however,  a  very  dif- 
ferent motive  which  guides  the  thoughts  of  Christ.  It  is  the 
enlarged,  and  constantly  enlarging,  sense  of  the  benignity  of 
God.  The  more  Christ  learns  of  humanity  the  more  does 
He  discern  that  it  is  w<  >rthy  of  the  Divine  love.  These  Gen- 
tiles, hated  of  the  Jew,  treated  as  spiritual  pariahs  incapable 
of  Divine  truth,  nevertheless  prove  themselves  kindly,  faith- 
ful to  what  they  know  of  good,  ready  to  be  taught,  and  quick 
to  respond  to  new  ideas.  To  realize  this  involved  a  radical 
recoustruction  of  the  old  spiritual  cosmogonies.  It  could  not 
be  that  races  so  capable  of  good  were  foredoomed  to  destruc- 
tion. What  sort  of  God  could  that  be  who  ruled  the  uni- 
verse upon  such  narrow  principles  ?  Certainly  not  the  God 
whom  Jesus  worshipped.  Hence  the  need  for  a  new  defini- 
tion of  God  which  should  accord  with  the  manifest  facts  of 
life.  The  tribal  God  was  henceforth  impossible,  and  the 
Jehovah  of  the  Jew  was,  after  all,  a  tribal  God.  Such  a  God 
belonged  to  an  age  of  spiritual  barbarism,  which  was  happily 
drawing  to  its  close.  The  catholic  qualities  of  good  in  man 
suggested  a  catholic  goodness  in  God.  Before  the  Gentiles 
could  be  evangelized  it  was  necessary  to  affirm  that  they  had 
a  real  claim  on  God,  not  inferior  to  the  claim  of  the  sons  of 
Abraham,  and  that  that  claim  was  allowed.  It  was  under 
the  compulsion  of  this  reasoning  that  Jesus  now  began  to 
teach  in  language  more  definite  than  any  He  had  yet  used 
the  catholic  benignity  of  God. 


202  THE    LIFE    OF   CHRIST 

We  have  the  best  means  of  studying  this  doctrine  in  a 
series  of  great  parables,  which  may  be  collected  under  the 
general  title  of  the  parables  of  the  Divine  Benignity.  They 
were  uttered  at  various  times,  and  in  many  places,  but  they 
have  a  common  objective.  They  were  in  every  case  directed 
against  the  Pharisees,  who  were  the  constituted  guardians  of 
the  old  cosmogony,  teaching  in  season  and  out  of  season  the 
doctrine  dear  to  Jewish  pride,  that  the  Jew  alone  had  cov- 
enanted claims  on  God. 

The  first  series  may  be  called  the  parables  of  Hospitality. 
St.  Luke  narrates  two  of  these  in  a  single  chapter,  as  being 
uttered  at  one  time,  when  Jesus  was  eating  bread  in  the 
house  of  one  of  the  chief  of  the  Pharisees.  The  first  is  quite 
simple,  It  is  a  sketch  drawn  from  the  life  of  the  proud  and 
presumptuous  man,  who  being  called  to  a  marriage  feast,  imme- 
diately chose  the  best  seat  for  himself.  He  is  but  one  guest 
among  many,  and  his  conduct  is  equally  destitute  of  cour- 
tesy and  consideration.  Other  guests,  not  inferior  to  him- 
self, but  of  a  humbler  mind,  take  the  lower  seats  at  the  long 
table,  at  the  head  of  which  the  bridegroom  sits.  But  mat- 
ters are  speedily  readjusted  by  the  interference  of  the  bride- 
groom himself.  The  humble  guest  at  the  end  of  the  table, 
sitting  with  the  menials  of  the  household,  is  beckoned  to  a 
place  beside  the  bridegroom,  and  the  Pharisee  is  punished 
for  his  arrogance  by  being  requested  to  take  the  lower  seat. 
The  effect  of  this  anecdote  is  greatly  heightened  when  we  re- 
member that  the  Pharisees  were  peculiarly  sensitive  on  mat- 
ters of  etiquette,  always  claiming  the  place  of  honor  at  feasts, 
and  arranging  the  places  of  their  guests  with  a  strict  regard 
to  the  dignity  of  each.  What  Jesus  means  to  imply  is  that 
they  have  treated  the  whole  subject  of  religion  in  the  same 
spirit  of  offensive  arrogance.  They  have  claimed  to  be  the 
chief  friends  of  God.     They  have  scorned  the  poorer  guests 


AFFIRMATION  OF  GOD'S  BENIGNITY  203 

of  God,  for  whom  the  broken  crusts  of  truth  were  good 
enough.  They  have  made  God  such  an  one  as  themselves, 
attributing  their  own  meanness  of  mind  to  Him,  who  allows 
their  claim.  Christ  represents  God  as  acting  with  a  consid- 
eration for  the  humbler  children  of  His  bounty  which  the 
Pharisee  never  felt.  The  scorned  are  honored,  the  lowly  are 
uplifted,  the  abased  are  exalted,  those  who  claim  nothing  are 
given  the  best.  And  these  poor  people,  in  whom  we  see  the 
Gentile  nations,  are  thus  honored,  because  they  are  worthy 
of  honor.  They  alone  have  behaved  well ;  their  humility  and 
good  manners  are  their  titles  to  dignity.  The  Bridegroom 
thus  becomes  the  spokesman  of  that  God,  ever  loving  and 
benign,  who  causes  His  sun  to  rise  upon  the  evil  and  the 
good,  and  is  no  respecter  of  persons. 

This  anecdote  is  followed  by  a  plain  discourse  which  en- 
larges this  idea  of  the  Divine  benignity.  The  natural  prin- 
ciple of  human  hospitality  is  social  intercourse  between 
equals.  Men  invite  their  equals  to  their  tables,  perhaps 
their  superiors,  but  rarely  their  inferiors.  Yet  there  were 
many  exquisite  axioms  in  Jewish  ethics  which  forbade  this 
spirit  of  exclusiveness.  The  men  to  whom  Jesus  spoke 
might  have  remembered  their  own  legend  that  Job  lived  in  a 
house  that  was  built  four-square,  with  a  door  at  each  side, 
always  open,  that  the  traveler  coming  from  whatever  quarter 
might  find  Avelcome.  One  of  the  counsels  of  Jewish  wisdom 
was,  "  Let  the  house  be  open  toward  the  street,  and  let  the 
poor  be  the  sons  of  thy  house."  Even  so  God's  hospitality 
was  prepared  for  all  peoples.  That  is  not  a  real  hospitality 
which  is  arranged  upon  a  scheme  of  social  equivalents.  The 
guest  knows  too  well  that  for  every  mouthful  he  may  eat  he 
must  make  return.  He  is  really  effecting  an  exchange  in 
which  every  farthing  will  be  counted.  Though  no  bill  is 
presented  with  the  last   course  of  the  banquet,  yet  the  bill 


204  THE    LIFE    OF    CHRIST 

will  come  in  due  time.  Such  is  the  prevailing  principle  of 
that  social  hospitality  which  is  no  hospitality  at  all,  but 
merely  an  exchange  of  meals.  "  When  thou  makest  a  feast," 
says  Jesus,  "  call  the  poor,  the  maimed,  the  halt,  the  lame, 
the  blind,  for  they  cannot  recompense  thee."  Hospitality  is 
but  another  word  for  benignity. 

This  discourse,  which  commends  itself  to  every  man  of 
gentle  manners  and  charitable  heart,  passes  by  a  natural 
transition  into  another  parable  in  which  a  sterner  note  is 
struck.  There  is  little  left  to  implication  here  ;  the  parabolic 
form  is  but  the  thinnest  of  disguises.  A  certain  man  makes 
a  great  supper,  and  invites  to  it  those  whom  he  has  cause 
to  account  his  friends.  Then  a  strange  thing  happens  ;  none 
of  these  friends  desire  to  come.  They  all  begin  with  one 
consent  to  make  excuses,  and  these  excuses  are  described 
with  a  touch  of  mingled  irony  and  humor.  Not  one  of  them 
is  valid :  this  is  the  point  which  Christ  elicits,  because  in 
this  is  the  sting  of  His  rebuke.  The  man  who  had  bought 
a  piece  of  land  might  have  gone  to  look  at  it  another  day  ; 
he  who  had  bought  a  yoke  of  oxen  might  have  proved  them 
at  his  own  time ;  and  the  excuse  of  the  man  who  could  not 
come  because  he  had  married  a  wife  was  purely  farcical. 
They  were  subterfuges,  covering  a  concealed  dislike.  They 
were  so  many  deliberate  insults,  all  the  more  offensive  be- 
cause they  were  disingenuous.  Then  the  master  of  the 
house,  being  angry,  sends  his  servants  out  into  the  highways 
and  the  hedges  to  bring  in  the  homeless  and  the  hungry. 
They  are  told  even  to  explore  the  lanes  and  byways  of  the 
city  to  discover  the  miserable.  These  come  with  a  joyous 
and  half-incredulous  alacrity.  Strange  guests  for  a  rich 
man's  house  ;  but  their  rags  conceal  nobler  hearts  than  beat 
beneath  the  robes  of  those  reluctant  friends,  who  mocked  and 
chattered  at  a  distance.     Never  was  there  feast  more  joyous 


AFFIRMATION  OF  GOD'S  BENIGNITY  205 

than  this,  where  an  unexpected  hospitality  is  repaid  by  hon- 
est gratitude  and  love.  Benignity  finds  its  reward  in  this 
precious  gift  of  affection  from  the  despised.  The  inference 
cannot  be  mistaken.  God  no  longer  calls  the  Pharisees  His 
friends.  The  world  shall  come  and  eat  of  the  feast  which 
they  rejected.  The  form  of  invitation  henceforth  shall  be, 
"  Him  that  cometh  I  will  in  no  wise  cast  out."  From  the 
East  and  the  West,  from  the  North  and  the  South,  there 
shall  crowd  those  that  are  not  the  children  of  Abraham,  and 
shall  sit  down  at  the  banquet  which  is  spread  to  inaugurate 
the  new  Kingdom.  The  grim  Jehovah,  created  out  of  Jew- 
ish pride  and  exclusiveness,  vanishes  with  the  smoke  of  use- 
less sacrifices  and  propitiations ;  and  instead  there  reigns  the 
universal  Father,  who  gathers  all  His  children  to  His  knees. 
The  parables  of  hospitality  have  associated  with  them  the 
parables  of  Sympathy.  The  parable  or  incident  of  the  Good 
Samaritan  is  the  finest  exposition  of  social  sympathy  which 
Christ  ever  delivered,  and  we  pay  it  the  noblest  possible  tri- 
bute when  we  say  that  it  is  endorsed  by  the  universal  con- 
science of  mankind.  But  it  is  much  more  than  an  exposition 
of  social  sympathy.  Once  more,  as  in  the  parable  of  the 
guests  at  the  marriage  feast,  Christ  selects  for  praise  a  man 
whose  fine  behavior  affords  a  striking  contrast  to  the  bad  be- 
havior of  the  Jew.  From  his  lowly  seat  in  society  he  is 
called  to  the  place  of  honor  because  he  deserves  honor  for  his 
unaffected  benignity  of  nature.  He  has  learned  what  the 
Levite  and  the  Priest  have  never  so  much  as  guessed — that 
the  essence  of  all  piety  is  to  do  good,  asking  no  return.  If 
God  is  well  pleased  with  him,  it  is  because  this  man's  nature 
is  in  accord  with  the  nature  of  God.  It  is  so  that  God  cares 
for  the  wounded,  the  neglected,  the  unhappy,  with  a  catholic 
benevolence.  If  this  man,  being  evil,  knows  how  to  give 
good  gifts  of  wine  and  oil,  charity  and  thoughtfulness,  to  one 


206  THE    LIFE    OF   CHRIST 

who  has  no  claim  upon  him  save  his  need,  how  much  more 
shall  the  Heavenly  Father  give  good  gifts  to  them  that  ask 
Him?  Or,  to  put  the  truth  in  yet  more  positive  form,  if 
man  can  thus  be  sympathetic  for  his  brother  in  misfortune, 
how  much  wider  is  the  sympathy  of  God  ?  It  is  character- 
istic of  Jesus  that  He  habitually  interprets  God's  nature  by 
all  that  is  best  in  man's.  He  does  this  specifically  in  the 
Lord's  Prayer,  when  He  bases  man's  hope  of  Divine  forgive- 
ness on  man's  willingness  to  forgive  his  brother.  The  river 
cannot  rise  above  its  source ;  man's  virtue  cannot  be  superior 
to  his  Creator's.  To  be  perfect  as  God  is  perfect  is  the  sub- 
lime hope  of  human  life.  The  good  and  benevolent  man  is 
thus  the  replica  of  God.  The  dewdrop  may  carry  in  its 
bosom  the  perfect  image  of  the  star  ;  light,  whether  gath- 
ered to  a  point  on  the  surface  of  the  dewdrop,  or  diffused 
through  boundless  firmaments,  is  the  same.  Human  nature 
itself  is  thus  God's  witness ;  and  whenever  we  see  in  another 
some  special  kindness  or  virtue  we  may  say,  "Love  is  of 
God,  and  God  is  love." 

But  chief  of  all  the  parables  of  sympathy  is  the  parable  of 
the  Lost  Sheep,  or,  as  it  should  be  called,  the  parable  of  the 
Seeking  Shepherd.  In  this  miniature  drama  man  again  be- 
comes the  exponent  of  God.  "  What  man  of  you,  having  an 
hundred  sheep,  if  he  lose  one  of  them,  doth  not  leave  the 
ninety  and  nine  in  the  wilderness,  and  go  after  that  which  is 
lost,  until  he  find  it  ?  "  The  appeal  is  made  to  the  average 
of  men  and  women,  yet  here  is  a  catholic  instinct  of  humanity 
so  strong  that  Christ  confidently  challenges  it.  "  What  man 
of  you  would  not  do  this  ?  "  He  asks.  Things  that  are  lost 
always  appear  to  be  of  more  value  than  things  that  have 
never  been  in  peril  of  loss.  The  bereaved  mother  eternally 
persuades  herself  that  the  child  that  died  was  the  flower  of 
the    flock,  and  for  the  son  who  has  gone  astray  the,  father 


AFFIRMATION  OF  GOD'S  BENIGNITY  207 

will  entertain  a  strong  and  pitiful  passion  of  love  not  excited 
by  the  child  whose  life  has  been  a  pattern  of  obedient  virtue. 
The  question  proposed  by  Christ  is  really  this :  Shall  God 
be  content  that  any  one  should  be  for  ever  lost?  If  the 
human  shepherd  will  undertake  incredible  exertion  to  re- 
cover one  lost  sheep,  shall  the  Divine  Shepherd  of  Souls  be 
less  magnanimous,  less  determined  in  His  effort  to  save 
men,  or  less  successful  ?  The  exquisite  conception  of  God 
as  the  Shepherd  was  as  old  as  the  twenty -third  Psalm.  The 
corresponding  conception  of  man  "as  a  sheep  was  equally 
familiar  :  "  All  we  like  sheep  have  gone  astray,"  is  Isaiah's 
summary  of  human  transgression.  They  have  not  gone 
astray  as  wolves,  through  incurable  barbarism  of  the  blood, 
but  as  sheep  through  heedlessness,  folly,  and  lack  of  knowl- 
edge. Man  is  therefore  to  be  pitied  for  his  waywardness. 
There  is  no  need  to  punish  one  who  punishes  himself  so 
thoroughly.  The  last  thought  of  the  good  shepherd  is  to 
punish  the  strayed  sheep ;  when  he  finds  it,  tears  of  pity  fill 
his  eyes,  and  he  lays  it  on  his  shoulders  with  the  tenderest 
of  hands,  and  carries  it  in  his  bosom.  It  is  so  that  God 
feels  for  man.  Heaven  is  sad  while  one  soul  with  a  right  to 
heaven  is  missing.  God  will  leave  the  safely  folded  sheep 
and  go  out  to  seek  the  lost  "  until  He  find  it."  Far  as  it  has 
strayed,  it  is  not  beyond  recovery,  and  the  only  limit  to  re- 
covery lies  in  the  ability  of  the  shepherd  to  recover  it. 
Things  that  are  impossible  with  man  are  possible  with  God ; 
and  though  seon  after  aeon  pass  before  the  last  strayed  sheep 
of  God  is  found,  yet  the  Good  Shepherd  will  certainly  go  on 
seeking  "  until  He  find  it."  Such  is  the  parable  of  Christ, 
and  was  ever  the  truth  of  the  Divine  benignity  taught 
with  more  exquisite  felicity  of  metaphor,  or  with  tenderer 
grace ? 

And  then,  almost  without  metaphor,  the  Divine  benignity 


208  THE   LIFE   OF   CHRIST 

receives  its  crowning  statement  in  the  immortal  story  of  the 
Prodigal  Son.  This  story  is  miscalled  the  story  of  the 
Prodigal  Son;  it  is  really  the  parable  of  the  Benignant 
Father.  It  is  the  father  who  from  first  to  last  takes  the  eye 
in  this  heart-moving  human  drama.  Neither  son  is  worthy 
of  him ;  the  moral  distance  between  him  and  them  is  made 
intentionally  wide.  The  elder  brother  is  virtuous  enough, 
but  he  has  all  the  vices  of  conventional  virtue :  pride,  nar- 
rowness, self-esteem,  pharisaism,  complete  destitute  of  no- 
bility or  grace  of  character.  The  younger  brother  is  vicious, 
but  he  has  some  of  the  virtues  of  the  vicious :  rash  and  im- 
petuous generosity,  love  of  friends,  warmth  of  temperament, 
boyish  daring,  and  delight  in  life.  But  in  the  father's  con- 
duct there  is  no  flaw.  He  treats  both  sons  with  faultless 
magnanimity.  He  gives  them  their  rights,  and  more  than 
their  rights.  He  opposes  to  the  levity  of  his  younger  son 
and  the  insults  of  his  elder  a  temper  of  infinite  sweetness  and 
reasonableness.  He  is  disappointed  in  each,  but  there  is  no 
harshness  on  his  lips.  He  might  justly  have  been  indignant ; 
but  he  is  only  hurt  and  grieved.  He  sees  the  course  which 
the  faults  of  each  will  take,  and  knows  that  they  will  cure 
themselves.  From  the  hour  when  the  younger  son  disap- 
pears into  the  far  country  the  father  knows  that  he  must 
come  back.  The  prodigal  drags  "the  lengthening  chain" 
that  binds  him  to  his  home.  When  at  last  he  returns  there 
is  no  recrimination  on  his  father's  lips.  The  boy's  sins  and 
follies  are  not  so  much  as  named.  He  is  treated  as  an 
honored  guest  for  whom  the  feast  is  prepared  and  the  best 
robe  reserved.  The  rebuke  that  is  addressed  to  the  grudging 
elder  brother  is  couched  in  terms  of  dignity  and  tenderness. 
The  force  and  depth  of  that  infinite  affection  which  composes 
fatherhood  is  revealed  at  every  stage  of  the  drama  ;  for  while 
each  son  in  turn  forgets  the  duties  of  his  sonship,  the  father 


AFFIRMATION  OF  GOD'S  BENIGNITY  209 

never  for  an  instant  forgets  tke  duties  of  his  fatherhood.  It 
is  but  a  narrow  literalism  which  makes  this  large-hearted 
parable  a  rebuke  of  the  Pharisees,  an  affirmation  of  the 
claims  of  Gentile  nations  whom  the  Pharisees  despised.  No 
doubt  this  was  a  lesson  which  Jesus  meant  to  be  observed ; 
but  the  parable  stands  f<  >r  something  much  wider  and  loftier. 
It  is  the  perfect  exposition  of  the  Divine  Benignity,  the  final 
revelation  of  the  Fatherhood  of  God ;  and  it  has  become  to 
all  Christian  thinkers  through  all  generations  the  "  master 
light  of  all  their  seeing." 

"  Likewise  I  say  unto  you,  there  is  joy  in  the  presence  of 
the  angels  of  God  over  one  sinner  that  repenteth,"  said  Jesus. 
This  is  the  noble  refrain  of  the  parables  of  the  Seeking  Shep- 
herd, and  of  the  Benignant  Father.  The  angel  choir  that 
sang  of  peace  and  goodwill  over  Bethlehem  is  answered  by 
the  full  chorus  of  a  joyous  heaven,  moved  to  rapture  over  the 
reclamation  of  a  single  human  soul.  Never  did  music  so 
lofty  or  so  astonishing  salute  human  ears.  Hitherto  the 
heavens  had  seemed  to  man  not  benignant  but  malignant. 
The  terror  of  the  God  lay  heavy  on  the  human  mind.  The 
greatest  of  Greek  dramatists  can  only  conceive  of  God  as  the 
President  of  the  Immortals,  pursuing  man  with  the  ardor  of 
a  cruel  huntsman.  Even  Job,  swayed  between  resignation 
and  resentment,  cannot  subdue  the  thought  that  he  is  the 
sport  of  a  Divine  malice,  and  he  cries  in  the  bitterness  of  his 
soul,  "  Thou  scarest  me  with  dreams  and  terrifiest  me  through 
visions."  Man  is  the  eloquent  inartyr  of  an  almighty  malig- 
nity. The  powers  enthroned  in  the  heavens  are  in  deathless 
antagonism  with  him.  In  all  elementary  religions  the  same 
thought  is  expressed.  iEschylus  does  but  utter  what  the 
meanest  savage  feels  when  he  heaps  propitiations  on  the 
altar  of  his  devil-god.  Jesus  abolishes  this  terror  of  the 
gods  with  a  word.     The  veil  is  lifted  from  the  heavens,  and 

14 


210  THE    LIFE    OF   CHRIST 

the  hierarchies  of  power  are  revealed  as  a  confraternity  of 
pity.  They  are  on  the  side  of  man,  and  the  very  joy  of  God 
is  joy  in  man's  well-being.  A  benignant  God  whose  love  is 
free  and  catholic  as  that  catholic  sunlight  which  lighteth 
every  man  who  comes  into  the  world,  rules  over  all,  and 
henceforth  the  earth  shall  learn  this  new  litany  of  wor- 
ship, "  Our  Father,  who  art  in  heaven,  hallowed  be  Thy 
name." 

The  Benignant  God  thus  revealed  by  Jesus  Christ  has 
never  been  dethroned.  The  old  terror  has  come  back  from 
time  to  time,  but  the  human  heart,  strengthened  by  the  word 
of  Christ,  and  still  more  by  His  example,  has  been  insurgent 
to  it,  and  has  more  and  more  been  victorious  over  it.  The 
hateful  narrowness  of  seels  has  sought  to  belittle  Christ's 
Divine  conceptions,  and  they  have  often  been  obscured  in 
clouds  of  acrid  logic.  Men  have  sometimes  treated  these 
conceptions  as  the  vandals  of  every  generation  have  treated 
forms  of  art  whose  dignity  and  sweetness  tliey  could  not  un- 
derstand. The  fresco  glowing  with  its  messages  of  poetry 
and  of  beauty  has  been  obscured  under  coats  of  whitewash  ; 
but  happily  the  colors  are  imperishable.  They  still  pene- 
trate through  all  surface  disfigurements,  as  the  sublime  figure 
of  Christ  may  still  be  discerned  in  the  mosque  of  San  Sophia 
behind  the  color-wash  with  which  the  Turk  lias  attempted  to 
destroy  the  emblems  of  a  faith  he  has  displaced.  Some  day 
perhaps  a  Christian  conqueror  will  enter  Constantinople,  and 
then  this  figure  of  Christ,  which  has  waited  patiently  through 
eight  centuries  of  shame,  will  step  out  to  greet  him.  Some 
day,  it  may  be,  in  like  manner  the  temple  of  theology  will  be 
purged  from  the  equal  desecrations  of  centuries  of  spiritual 
barbarism.  And  then,  too,  the  portrait  Jesus  drew  of  God 
will  be  again  revealed  in  all  its  pristine  purity.  The  infinite 
benignity  of  God  will  again  be  understood  as  the  first  and 


AFFIRMATION  OF  GOD'S  BENIGNITY  211 

last  word  of  all  religion.  The  gospel  of  Christ  will  then  be 
summed  up  in  one  supreme  definition  :  "  No  man  hath  seen 
God  at  any  time ;  but  the  only  begotten  of  the  Father,  full 
of  grace  and  truth,  He  hath  revealed  Him." 


CHAPTEK  XVI 

MISSIONARY   ENTEEPRISE 

The  parable  of  the  Seeking  Shepherd  may  be  said  to  contain 
the  germ  of  all  missionary  enterprise.  Its  dominant  note  is 
that  if  men  are  to  be  brought  into  the  fold  of  God,  they  must 
be  sought.  They  are  both  unwilling  and  incapable  of  seek- 
ing the  fold  for  themselves,  as  the  lost  sheep  is.  A  general 
declaration  of  ethical  truth,  however  lucid  and  persuasive,  is 
of  no  avail.  "Were  it  argued,  for  example,  that  the  wide 
publication  of  the  Gospels  was  sufficient  in  itself  to  impreg- 
nate the  whole  world  with  Christian  ideas,  the  immediate 
retort  would  be  that  truth  needs  something  more  than  pub- 
licity before  it  can  be  generally  accepted.  It  needs  to  be 
enforced  by  living  examples  and  the  enthusiasm  of  the  living 
voice.  We  are  apt  greatly  to  exaggerate  the  influence  which 
literatures  and  their  authors  exercise  upon  the  world.  There 
is  nothing  that  men  in  general  regard  with  such  complete  in- 
difference as  books.  Declarations  of  truth,  whether  made 
on  the  forum  or  in  the  press,  rarely  touch  more  than  a  few 
scattered  units  of  society.  If  the  great  mass  of  human  crea- 
tures are  to  be  affected  by  these  declarations  they  must  be 
importuned  to  listen.  Hence  truth  never  succeeds  on  any 
large  scale  without  the  spirit  of  active  propaganda.  It  is 
not  the  Koran  which  explains  the  triumph  of  Mohammed, 
but  the  propagandist  fire  which  he  kindled  in  a  multitude  of 
ardent  followers.  Certainly  it  is  not  the  Gospels  which  first 
drew  attention  to  Christ,  since  His  Church  had  already  taken 
firm  hold  upon  the  world  long  before  the  Gospels  were  gen- 

212 


MISSIONARY   ENTERPRISE  213 

erally  known.  The  real  source  of  triumph  lay  hi  the  energy 
of  individuals  who  went  out  to  seek  the  lost,  everywhere 
compelling  men  to  listen  by  the  novelty  of  their  message  and 
the  enthusiasm  of  their  lives.  It  is  this  truth  which  makes 
Christ's  picture  of  the  Seeking  Shepherd  the  fertile  inspira- 
tion of  all  missionary  enterprise. 

Christ  appears  on  two  occasions  to  have  organized  His 
followers  for  deliberate  missionary  effort.  In  the  first  in- 
stance He  sends  forth  the  Apostles  only,  and  the  peculiarity 
of  their  mission  is  that  they  are  not  to  "go  into  the  way  of 
the  Gentiles,"  nor  into  any  city  of  Samaria,  but  to  the  "  lost 
sheep  of  the  house  of  Israel."  In  the  second  instance  we 
find  a  significant  alteration  of  plan.  It  is  no  longer  the 
Apostles  alone  who  are  sent,  but  seventy  disciples  specially 
selected  for  the  work.  The  limitation  of  the  mission  to  the 
children  of  Israel  is  withdrawn ;  these  later  Evangelists  are 
to  go  "into  every  city  and  place  whither  He  Himself  would 
come."  This  is  in  accord  with  the  wider  view  of  His  mis- 
sion which  possessed  the  mind  of  Christ  after  His  visit  to 
the  pagan  populations  of  Tyre  and  Sidon.  The  question 
naturally  suggests  itself,  Why  did  not  Christ  remain  among 
these  pagan  populations  who  had  received  Him  with  a  joy- 
ous alacrity  never  manifested  by  His  own  countrymen  ?  The 
answer  is  that  such  a  decision  would  have  manifested  a  spirit 
of  resentment  against  His  own  countrymen  which  Christ  was 
incapable  of  feeling.  The  more  bitterly  the  Pharisees  were 
opposed  to  Him  the  more  necessary  did  it  seem  to  affirm  His 
claims  in  Jerusalem,  which  was  the  very  citadel  of  Phari- 
saism. The  man  of  heroic  temper  inevitably  chooses  a  dif- 
ficult course  in  preference  to  an  easy  one.  Danger  in  itself 
is  a  powerful  element  of  attraction.  Moreover,  Christ  fore- 
sees that  the  hour  will  soon  come  when  He  Himself  will  be 
withdrawn,  and  this  makes  it  the  more  necessary  that  His 


214  THE    LIFE    OF    CHRIST 

followers  should  have  some  preliminary  exercise  in  the  sort 
of  work  which  will  devolve  upon  them  at  no  distant  date. 
Hence  the  second  mission  is  organized  upon  a  wider  scale 
than  the  first.  It  is  meant  as  a  reply  to  the  Sanhedrin  who 
are  already  devising  His  death.  To  the  seventy  members  of 
the  Sanhedrin  Christ  opposes  seventy  disciples  filled  with 
the  spirit  not  of  hatred  but  of  love,  moved  by  the  instincts 
not  of  obscurantism  but  of  catholic  charity.  They  are,  so  to 
speak,  the  Sanhedrin  of  the  New  Kingdom — a  Sanhedrin  of 
saints.  Two  by  two  they  go  forth,  filled  with  guileless  en- 
thusiasm, the  advance  guard  of  an  innumerable  army  which 
has  never  since  ceased  to  carry  on  its  conquering  propa- 
ganda. 

It  is  clear  that  these  missionary  enterprises  were  among 
the  most  deliberately  organized  of  all  Christ's  acts.  Indeed 
it  may  be  claimed  that  nowhere  else  do  we  find  any  evidence 
of  deliberate  organization  at  all.  Christ  did  not  think  it 
necessary  to  leave  any  working  plan  for  the  establishment  of 
His  Church.  His  institutions  are  limited  to  two — baptism 
and  the  Lord's  Supper.  His  doctrines  themselves  were  not 
reduced  to  axiomatic  form,  nor  was  any  effort  made  to  pre- 
serve them  in  writing.  Apparently  nothing  was  more  re- 
mote from  the  mind  of  Christ  than  that  which  is  the  first  in- 
stinct in  the  minds  of  all  great  teachers  and  reformers,  viz., 
to  organize  firmly  doctrines  and  institutions  which  shall  be 
their  perpetual  memorial.  But  the  sending  out  of  the  sev- 
enty is  prefaced  by  very  definite  instructions.  There  is  put 
into  the  hand  of  each  a  code  of  conduct  and  behavior  drawn 
up  by  the  Master  Himself.  How  deeply  impressed  Jesus 
Himself  was  with  the  importance  of  this  step  we  may  judge 
by  two  incidents.  In  what  were  almost  His  dying  moments 
His  mind  goes  back  to  the  first  missionary  journey  of  the 
Twelve,  and  He  says  to  His  sorrowing  disciples,  "When  I 


MISSIONARY  ENTERPRISE  215 

sent  you  without  purse  and  scrip,  and  shoes,  lacked  ye  any- 
thing ?  "  In  the  last  recorded  speech  of  all,  before  Jesus 
vanishes  for  ever  into  the  heavens,  His  mind  is  still  glowing 
with  the  ardor  of  the  propagandist :  "  Go  ye  unto  all  the 
world,  and  preach  the  Gospel  to  every  creature."  If  from 
such  suggestive  incidents  anything  can  be  deduced,  it  is  that 
the  thought  dearest  to  the  heart  of  Christ  was  missionary  en- 
terprise. 

What  was  the  nature  of  this  code  of  instructions  placed 
in  the  hands  of  these  first  missionaries  ?  If  it  be,  as  we  take 
it  to  be,  the  one  deliberate  attempt  of  Christ  in  practical  or- 
ganization, it  must  needs  be  regarded  as  a  statement  of  prin- 
ciples. What  were  the  principles  which  Christ  enunciated 
as  indispensable  not  merely  to  this  particular  mission,  but  to 
all  similar  enterprises  conducted  in  His  name  throughout  the 
ages? 

The  document  commences  with  a  prologue  stating  the 
grounds  on  which  the  work  is  undertaken,  and  one  significant 
detail  of  the  new  organization  in  relation  to  the  disciples 
themselves.  "  The  harvest  truly  is  great,  but  the  laborers 
are  few,"  says  Jesus.  The  capacity  and  readiness  of  man- 
kind in  general  to  receive  the  new  truth  is  thus  taken  for 
granted.  Nothing  that  has  happened  by  way  of  blind  preju- 
dice and  envenomed  opposition  has  shaken  Christ's  belief  in 
the  good  qualities  of  human  nature.  Men  are  ripe  for  the 
harvest ;  they  are  as  corn  ready  to  fall  before  the  sickle. 
God  has  taken  care  to  sow  the  Divine  seed  in  human  hearts ; 
it  is  for  man  now  to  gather  the  first  fruits.  Amid  a  thousand 
debasements  human  nature  in  general  remains  virtuous.  It 
has  its  roots  in  God,  and  the  surprising  fact  is  not  that  man 
is  so  bad,  but  that  he  is  so  good.  He  who  sees  nothing  but 
the  gross  depravity  of  human  nature  is  disqualified  for  all 
missionary  enterprise  because  he  is  destitute  of  hope.     Faith 


216  THE    LIFE    OF   CHRIST 

-  in  man  and  man's  capacity  for  good  must  precede  any  serious 
attempt  to  make  him  better.  But  there  are  no  doubt  many 
grounds  for  dejection  in  attempting  such  a  task,  and  this  de- 
jection is  most  sensibly  felt  by  the  solitary  worker.  The 
missionary,  of  all  men,  by  the  very  nature  of  his  task,  needs 
the  stimulus  of  comradeship.  Nothing  sustains  him  so  well, 
nothing  invigorates  him  so  deeply,  as  the  sense  of  confrater- 
nity. Therefore  Christ,  with  an  admirable  wisdom,  sends 
out  His  missionaries  two  by  two.  The  principle  of  brother- 
hood in  work  is  thus  affirmed.  The  enthusiast,  more  liable 
than  most  men  to  fits  of  depression,  to  brooding  painful 
thoughts,  and  in  periods  of  triumph  to  self-applausive  pride, 
needs  some  one  near  him  who  shall  regulate  his  egoism,  cor- 
roborate his  message,  console  his  fears,  animate  his  droop- 
ing courage,  and  in  all  things  give  what  he  himself  receives, 
the  stimulus  of  social  intercourse.  To  the  propagandist  soli- 
tude is  a  fruitful  source  of  temptation  and  disablement ;  but 
the  force  of  all  propagandas  is  vastly  increased  by  the  warmth 
and  ardor  of  a  corporate  life  among  their  members.  So  we 
see  these  men  depart  upon  their  appointed  ways,  talking  as 
they  go  of  the  things  nearest  to  their  hearts,  and  illustrating 
in  their  love  for  one  another  the  essential  brotherhood  of 
that  New  Kingdom  which  they  represent. 

If  we  now  turn  to  the  code  of  instructions  itself,  the  first 
thing  that  arrests  the  mind  is  the  counsel  of  non-resistance. 
In  the  significant  phrase  of  Christ  they  are  sent  forth  "as 
lambs  among  wolves."  Perhaps  no  doctrine  that  Christ  ever 
taught  has  been  more  fruitful  of  controversy  than  this  doc- 
trine of  non-resistance.  Yet  a  very  brief  study  of  Christ's 
teachings  on  the  subject,  if  it  be  careful  and  intelligent,  is 
sufficient  to  make  His  meaning  tolerably  clear.  It  must  be 
remembered  that  almost  all  Christ's  sayings  on  non-resist- 
ance were  uttered  in  the  form  of  proverbs,  and  the  essence 


MISSIONARY  ENTERPRISE  217 

of  a  proverb  is  that  it  overstates  a  point,  and  rejects  qualifi- 
cations, for  the  sake  of  calling  attention  in  emphatic  fashion 
to  some  particular  truth.  Thus  when  Christ  says,  "Eesist 
not  evil ;  but  whosoever  shall  smite  thee  on  the  right  cheek, 
turn  to  him  the  other  also,"  it  is  an  overstatement,  made  for 
the  sake  of  emphasis.  The  meaning  is  that  it  is  better  to 
be  twice  insulted  than  to  do  one  wrong  by  requiting  violence 
with  violence.  When  Christ  says  that  if  a  man  shall  by  ille- 
gal means  deprive  you  of  }'Our  coat,  "let  him  have  thy  cloak 
also,"  it  is  an  overstatement,  the  meaning  of  which  is,  that  it  is 
better  to  endure  a  wrong  than  to  assert  a  right  in  a  spirit  of  re- 
sentment and  retaliation.  When  Christ  says,  "  Give  to  him  that 
asketh  thee,  and  from  him  that  would  borrow  of  thee,  turn  not 
thou  away,"  it  is  again  an  overstatement,  the  obvious  meaning  of 
which  is  that  it  is  better  to  give  to  every  one  than  to  no  one, 
to  be  unwisely  generous  than  not  to  be  generous  at  all 
These  enigmatic  sayings  inculcate  a  certain  spirit  and  tem- 
per ;  they  do  not  lay  down  a  literal  law  of  conduct.  They 
do  not  mean  that  the  disciple  is  never  to  remonstrate  against 
injustice,  never  to  take  advantage  of  the  just  and  rightful 
laws  which  are  the  protection  of  society,  for  obviously  this 
would  imply  an  encouragement  to  injustice,  which  in  the 
long  run  would  prove  fatal  to  society.  Christ  Himself  pro- 
tested against  the  injustice  of  His  arrest,  and  rebuked  the 
officer  of  the  High  Priest's  court  who  struck  Him,  saying, 
"  If  I  have  spoken  evil,  bear  witness  of  the  evil ;  but  if  well, 
why  smitest  thou  Me  ?  "  And  as  one  reads  these  words  of 
Christ,  as  reported  by  St.  Matthew,  their  meaning  is  made 
absolutely  clear  by  the  nature  of  the  context.  They  form  an 
indictment  of  the  vindictive  spirit  of  the  Mosaic  law,  which 
exacted  an  eye  for  an  eye  and  a  tooth  for  a  tooth ;  and  they 
are  a  protest  against  the  spirit  of  retaliation.  The  loss  of 
property  by  unjust  exaction  is  a  less  evil  than  the  loss  of 


218  THE    LIFE    OF   CHRIST 

spiritual  peace  in  the  effort  to  recover  it ;  and  the  endurance 
of  wrong  is  a  less  injury  than  the  injury  wrought  upon  the 
soul  by  the  angry  passion  of  resentment  invoked  for  its  re- 
dress. This  is  the  true  meaning  of  Christ's  law  of  non-re- 
sistance, and  it  defines  its  scope  in  such  a  way  that  it  is  no 
longer  a  hard  saying  to  men  of  wise  and  generous  temper. 

This  law  is  now  applied  to  the  career  of  the  Christian 
propagandist.  Insult  and  outrage  will  await  these  disciples 
in  the  execution  of  the  great  task  entrusted  to  them.  Wrong 
will  be  inflicted  on  them  for  which  no  casuistry  can  discover 
the  smallest  element  of  justification.  Their  wisdom  will  be 
in  a  complete  freedom  from  resentment.  By  enduring  the 
wrong  they  will  only  strengthen  their  case,  and  will  win  ad- 
ditional respect.  The  persecuted  man  is  always  stronger 
than  his  persecutor.  There  is  what  Milton  finely  calls  "  an 
irresistible  might"  in  weakness  which  in  time  wears  down 
the  fiercest  enmity  of  persecution.  These  men  are  sent  forth 
as  lambs  among  wolves ;  but  the  meekness  of  the  lamb  in 
enduring  wrong  survives  the  cruelty  of  the  wolf  in  inflicting 
it.  The  beatitude  of  the  martyr  is  a  real  beatitude  :  "  Blessed 
are  they  that  are  persecuted  for  righteousness'  sake,  for 
theirs  is  the  kingdom  of  heaven."  They  are  not  only  blessed 
in  the  composure  of  their  own  spirits  under  suffering,  but 
their  cause  is  helped  forward  by  the  impression  which  that 
composure  makes  on  others.  And  so  it  has  always  been. 
Not  by  force  nor  by  might  have  the  greatest  causes  tri- 
umphed ;  but  by  the  conquering  fortitude  and  tranquillity  of 
those  who  have  endured  the  loss  of  all  things  for  their  sake. 
Loss  is  thus  the  surest  gain,  and  martyrdom  the  weapon  of 
the  most  effectual  victory. 

The  second  instruction  which  Christ  gives  to  these  seventy 
missionaries  is  a  counsel  against  all  worldly  preparations. 
They  are  to  carry  neither  purse,  nor  scrip,  nor  shoes.     Here 


MISSIONARY  ENTERPRISE  219 

again  Christ  intentionally  overstates  the  case,  for  the  pur- 
pose of  calling  attention  to  a  particular  truth.  That  truth  is 
the  peril  of  worldly  sagacity  in  its  application  to  spiritual 
propagandas.  Worldly  sagacity  is  not  totally  condemned ; 
St.  Matthew  amplifies  this  instruction  with  the  significant 
words,  "  Be  ye  therefore  wise  as  serpents,  and  harmless  as 
doves."  But  worldly  sagacity,  if  allowed  unrestricted  li- 
cense, is  deterrent  of  enthusiasm.  Had  Paul,  in  his  great 
missionary  journeys  waited  for  a  complete  organization  of 
resources,  he  would  never  have  started  at  all.  The  conquer- 
ing army  creates  its  own  resources  by  its  conquests.  Great 
movements  cannot  wait  on  questions  of  finance  and  commis- 
sariat. Those  who  see  the  final  triumph  of  some  benevolent 
crusade,  when  it  is  fully  equipped  with  all  the  means  of 
victory,  and  elaborately  organized,  frequently  assume  that  it 
has  possessed  these  means  from  the  first.  Nothing  can  be 
further  from  the  truth.  Crusades  usually  begin  in  the  ardent 
hearts  of  solitary  enthusiasts,  and  the  material  means  of  suc- 
cess are  elicited  in  the  degree  of  the  enthusiasm.  No  benevo- 
lent crusade  was  ever  justified  by  worldly  sagacity.  Its 
deadliest  enemy  would  have  been  the  astute  organizer  of 
victory,  unwilling  to  stir  an  inch  till  its  machinery  was  per- 
fected. A  resolute  and  ardent  faith  achieves  triumphs  of 
which  worldly  sagacity  never  dreams.  Christ,  in  uttering 
this  couusel,  enunciates  a  folly  which  has  repeatedly  proved 
wiser  than  the  wisdom  of  the  world.  He  will  permit  these 
men  not  the  least  preparation  for  their  journey.  They  are 
to  go  with  empty  purses,  and  with  but  one  suit  of  raiment. 
They  are  to  cast  themselves  boldly  on  the  people  as  pious 
mendicants.  They  are  to  stay  at  no  hostelries ;  and  their 
very  destitution  of  money  is  meant  to  ensure  this  end.  It  is 
enough  for  the  disciple  if  he  be  as  the  Lord,  who  had  no 
place  where  to  lay  His  head.     Perhaps  Christ  had  already 


220  THE    LIFE    OF   CHRIST 

seen  in  Judas  the  kind  of  evil  wliicli  financial  prudence 
works,  and  He  is  determined  that  in  this  new  society  money 
shall  play  no  part  at  all.  There  is  at  all  events  nothing  that 
can  tempt  the  worldly  man  in  such  a  life,  and  there  is  every- 
thing to  repel  him.  Where  there  are  no  funds  to  be  treasured 
there  will  be  no  Judas ;  where  abject  poverty  is  made  a  law 
of  life  the  gate  is  made  so  strait  that  none  but  pure  enthusi- 
asts will  seek  to  enter  it. 

The  enthusiast  also  has  his  faults,  among  which  is  a  tend- 
ency to  discourtesy.  Moving  at  a  high  level  of  thought  him- 
self, conscious  of  ideal  aims,  living  at  a  great  heat  of  heroic 
temper,  he  is  apt  to  despise  ordinary  men.  He  does  not 
care  to  associate  with  them,  and  soon  drifts  into  habits  of 
lonely  fanaticism.  Christ  had  seen  more  than  enough  of  the 
fruits  of  this  temper  in  the  disciples  of  John.  No  man  can 
obstain  from  social  intercourse  without  damage  to  his  own 
nature.  Christ  therefore  puts  His  missionaries  on  their 
guard  against  such  perils  by  a  third  counsel  of  courtesy  and 
hospitality.  They  are  not  to  show  themselves  churlish  and 
unsocial ;  in  every  city  and  village  they  are  to  welcome  the 
kindness  of  those  who  would  entertain  them.  They  are  not 
to  assume  airs  of  superiority ;  they  are  to  eat  such  things  as 
are  set  before  them  with  thankful  hearts.  They  are  to  be 
perfectly  courteous  in  their  treatment  of  all  men.  "When 
they  enter  a  house  they  are  not  to  omit  the  customary  salu- 
tation— "  Peace  be  to  this  house."  They  will  lose  nothing 
by  such  courtesy ;  the  worst  that  can  happen  is  that  they 
will  have  breathed  a  pious  wish  in  vain,  in  which  case  their 
salutation  will  "  return  to  them  again."  There  may  appear 
but  minor  morals  in  the  conduct  of  a  propagandist,  but  minor 
morals  have  more  to  do  with  the  happiness  of  society  than  is 
commonly  imagined.  Great  talents,  or  the  consciousness  of 
a  superior  mission,  do  not  absolve  men  from  the  laws  of 


MISSIONARY   ENTERPRISE  221 

courtesy.  The  fine  axiom  that  rank  imposes  obligations  ap- 
plies to  the  aristocracy  of  Christ's  kingdom  as  well  as  to  the 
arbiters  of  earthly  society. 

Moreover,  there  is  in  this  counsel  the  indication  of  a  cer- 
tain method  of  instruction  by  means  of  which  truth  is  to  be 
diffused.  Apparently  Christ  does  not  expect  from  these 
men  public  orations  and  addresses.  They  are  rather  cate- 
chists  than  orators.  Much  of  their  work  will  be  done  in 
quiet  personal  conversations,  which  afford  excellent  oppor- 
tunities for  the  statement  of  doubts  and  the  discussion  of 
difficulties.  This,  as  we  have  seen,  was  an  essential  feature 
of  Christ's  own  method.  Public  orations  are  of  great  value 
to  societies  already  well  disposed  to  the  reception  of  truth ; 
1  mt  they  are  of  little  service  among  an  alien  and  hostile  popu- 
lation. Here  more  personal  and  intimate  methods  of  instruc- 
tion come  into  play.  Men  must  first  feel  the  charm  of 
friendship  before  they  feel  the  force  of  truth.  They  must 
be  approached  one  by  one ;  they  must  be  seduced  into  inter- 
est and  attention  by  a  patient  treatment  of  individual  difficul- 
ties. This  is  the  work  of  the  catechist,  and  these  men  were 
the  first  catechists  of  Christianity.  It  is  significant  that  in 
the  earliest  missionary  crusade  conducted  by  the  Apostles 
the  instruction  was  to  preach ;  the  word  is  omitted  in  the 
instructions  for  this  second  mission.  Perhaps  one  of  the 
most  common  injustices  visited  upon  missionaries  by  popular 
criticism  is  that  they  cannot  preach  and  have  no  gift  of 
oratory.  We  should  recollect  that  the  missionary  is  still  a 
catechist,  as  these  men  were,  in  the  great  majority  of  in- 
stances. His  chief  work  is  done  not  in  the  market-place 
but  in  the  homes  of  the  people.  And  if  it  were  possible 
to  differentiate  between  the  two  methods  and  their  results, 
it  might  be  found  that  the  kingdom  of  God  owes  more 
to  the  humble  labor  of   the  catechist  than  to  orations   in 


222  THE    LIFE    OF   CHRIST 

the  theatre  of   Ephesus  or  on  the   splendid  slopes  of   the 
Acropolis. 

A  fourth  instruction  gives  great  weight  and  solemnity  to 
the  whole  enterprise.  One  of  the  most  frequent  thoughts  of 
Jesus  was  that  there  was  vested  in  Him  an  inevitable  power 
of  judgment.  Men  were  judged,  or  rather  judged  themselves, 
by  their  attitude  toward  Him.  He  supplied  the  solvent  or 
the  test  which  dissolved  society  into  its  element.  Wherever 
He  came  a  process  of  sifting  or  discrimination  began.  The 
evil  withdrew  from  Him,  the  good  were  attracted.  He  spe- 
cially warns  His  disciples  against  the  folly  of  supposing  that 
a  new  truth  can  establish  itself  without  opposition ;  He  has 
come  not  to  bring  peace  but  a  sword.  Every  new  idea  is  a 
sword,  every  reform  a  battle ;  and  around  every  great  re- 
former there  gathers  the  great  Armageddon  of  irreconcilable 
moral  differences.  He  applies  this  truth  now  to  the  work 
entrusted  to  these  eager  propagandists.  Enthusiasm  dis- 
solves into  mere  emotion  unless  it  includes  certain  elements 
of  sternness.  The  enthusiast  is  the  appointed  judge  of  his 
time,  and  he  must  be  prepared  to  do  his  work  with  firmness. 
If  in  any  city  their  message  is  not  received,  they  are  to  turn 
from  that  city,  and  to  wipe  its  very  dust  off  their  feet  as  a 
witness  against  it.  It  is  foolish  to  waste  pains  upon  a  soil 
wholly  intractable  and  barren.  It  is  still  more  foolish  to 
lament  unduly  over  such  a  fact.  The  true  success  of  all  re- 
form lies  in  a  wise  adaptation  of  means  to  ends.  If  it 
happened  with  them,  as  it  had  happened  with  Him,  that 
Judea  rejects  what  Tyre  and  Sidon  receive  with  glad- 
ness, let  them  follow  the  line  of  the  least  resistance  and 
sow  their  seed  in  a  soil  that  will  yield  the  readiest  har- 
vest. There  is  a  false  heroism,  a  kind  of  Quixotism, 
prone  to  spend  its  energies  on  the  impossible,  by  which 
the  enthusiast  is  frequently  seduced ;  Christ  inculcates  the 


MISSIONARY  ENTERPRISE  223 

spirit  of  that  saner,  if  less  striking,  heroism  which  measures 
energy  by  opportunity.  The  spiritual  Don  Quixote,  like  his 
great  prototype  of  romance,  is  really  half  insane,  and  what 
in  him  passes  for  heroism  is  but  wasteful  folly  after  all. 
Jesus  sees  the  peril  of  undisciplined  enthusiasm.  He  speaks 
not  as  a  fanatic,  but  with  the  profound  wisdom  of  the  great 
administrator,  who  knows  that  in  a  long  campaign  there  must 
be  defeats  as  well  as  victories.  The  brave  man,  however, 
knows  how  to  coin  victory  out  of  defeat,  and  Christ  would 
have  His  followers  share  that  rare  intrepidity  of  spirit  which 
leaves  the  lost  battlefield  with  dignity  to  seek  another  where 
triumph  is  assured. 

Such  is  the  plan  of  propaganda  drawn  up  by  Christ  for 
the  seventy  disciples.  We  have  no  means  of  knowing  the 
route  they  took,  the  cities  they  visited,  or  the  length  of  time 
devoted  to  their  adventurous  crusade.  Some  details  of  their 
journey,  are  preserved.  They  appear  to  have  exercised  the 
same  kind  of  power  over  forms  of  hysteric  mania  which 
Christ  Himself  possessed.  They  were  able  to  heal  the  sick. 
They  attracted  general  attention  by  their  spirit  of  benevo- 
lence. A  joyous  ecstasy  characterized  all  their  words  and 
movements.  They  returned  to  Jesus  full  of  natural  elation 
over  what  they  had  seen  and  done.  Jesus  Himself  rejoiced 
in  their  success  as  the  success  of  the  simple  and  the  humble. 
In  that  hour  His  soul  poured  itself  out  in  pious  thankfulness 
that  God  who  had  hid  these  things  from  the  wise  and  pru- 
dent, had  revealed  them  unto  babes.  Kings  and  prophets 
had  desired  to  see  a  kingdom  founded  on  principles  of  pure 
benevolence,  and  had  not  seen  it ;  what  the  wise  had  dreamed 
in  vain,  and  thought  impossible,  had  now  taken  form  and 
shape  in  the  triumph  of  the  simple.  He  read  in  these  things 
the  sublime  augury  of  the  future.  Alread}'  He  saw  Satan 
falling  as  lightning  from  heaven — the  immense  overthrow  and 


224  THE    LIFE    OF   CHRIST 

ruin  of  the  hierarchies  of  evil.  In  this  magnificent  phrase 
He  pre-dated  the  final  hour  of  time,  and  saw  as  accomplished 
what  in  reality  had  but  commenced.  Yet  the  phrase  was 
true,  as  it  is  true  that  he  who  looks  upon  the  seed  already 
sees  the  triumph  of  those  sequences  of  law  by  which  the 
harvest  is  produced.  To  the  prophetic  mind  time  does  not 
exist,  and  the  end  is  as  the  beginning.  In  that  hour  Jesus 
knew  that  He  had  found  the  weapon  of  universal  conquest. 
By  men  like  these,  humble  and  devoted,  loyal  to  a  Captain 
whom  they  deemed  invincible,  His  truths  would  be  spread 
through  every  land,  and  the  meek  would  inherit  the  earth. 
And  so  in  every  age  we  see  awful  and  benignant  figures 
moving  on  the  roads  of  martyrdom  :  resolute  confessors  of 
derided  truths  enduring  opposition  with  fortitude  and  equa- 
nimity ;  the  sons  of  charity  compassing  the  world  with  pil- 
grimages of  a  tireless  pity.  The  flames  of  noble  ardor  lit 
in  the  bosoms  of  these  simple  Galileans  has  never  left  the 
world.  Often  half  extinguished  by  the  rancour  of  polemics, 
or  reduced  to  smouldering  embers  by  the  apathy  of  faithless 
generations,  the  flame  has  burned  on,  breaking  out  from  time 
to  time  in  unexpected  radiance.  The  ancient  legend  which 
asserted  that  while  the  sacred  fire  burned  upon  the  altar  of 
the  Vestal  Virgins  Rome  would  stand,  has  its  counterpart  in 
the  actual  facts  of  Christianity.  Christianity  is  propagandist 
<  >r  it  is  nothing ;  and  it  can  only  perish  by  the  loss  of  that 
Divine  ardor  which  Christ  Himself  breathed  into  it  when 
He  sent  forth  His  disciples  to  teach  all  nations,  secure  in 
the  conviction  that  He  was  with  them  alway,  even  to  the 
end  of  the  world. 


CHAPTEK  XVII 

THE   EVENT   AT   C.ESAKEA   PHILIPPI 

We  now  follow  the  footsteps  of  Jesus  in  His  last  north- 
ward journey  before  He  steadfastly  sets  His  face  to  go  to 
Jerusalem.  It  is  difficult  to  resist  the  impression  of  rest- 
lessness and  even  aimlessness  in  these  last  wanderings 
into  pagan  or  semi-pagan  territory.  It  is  a  new  and 
strange  quality  in  the  actions  of  Christ,  as  a  rule  so  de- 
liberate and  serene  ;  but  there  is  much  to  explain  it.  More 
than  ever  conscious  of  the  breadth  and  significance  of 
His  mission,  He  finds  His  message  everywhere  met  with 
increasing  hostility  and  foresees  the  hour  when  Galilee 
itself  will  finally  reject  Him.  Young  and  full  of  ardor, 
He  perceives  the  shadow  of  death  which  is  slowly  gather- 
ing on  His  path.  He  has  heard  but  the  prelude  of  ma- 
ture manhood,  and  in  those  resonant  chords  a  requiem  is 
mingled.  To  familiarize  the  mind  with  this  new  thought  of 
martyrdom  is  difficult  indeed,  for  Jesus  had  none  of  that 
half-morbid  and  half-heroic  appetite  for  death  which  thou- 
sands of  martyrs  have  displayed.  He  is  full  of  a  healthy 
love  of  life,  and  when  at  last  the  hour  strikes  we  find  Him 
praying  that  if  it  be  possible  the  cup  may  pass  from  Him. 
He  needs  time  to  familiarize  His  mind  with  these  awful  pos- 
sibilities, hours  of  solitude  and  meditation,  and  not  less  op- 
portunities of  tender  monologue  with  His  disciples,  in  which 
He  may  make  His  own  thoughts  clear  by  ascertaining  theirs. 
For  a  time  the  charities  and  intellectual  energies  of  His 
public  life  are  suspended.  We  read  of  but  one  act  of  heal- 
15  225 


22G  THE    LIFE    OF   CHRIST 

bag  on  this  journey,  of  but  one  public  discourse.  He  travels 
1  >v  the  Lake  of  Merom  and  the  springs  of  Jordan,  silent  and 
absorbed  in  the  vision  of  His  own  destiny;  He  already  feels 
the  sacrificial  fillets  bound  upon  His  brow.  Other  journeys 
had  been  memorable  in  their  effects  upon  the  world ;  this 
was  memorable  in  the  revelation  of  the  things  which  con- 
cerned Himself. 

Csesarea  Philippi,  the  ancient  Paneas,  the  modern  Banias, 
was  the  limit  of  the  journey.  It  was  a  city  magnificent  for 
situation,  and  scarcely  less  magnificent  in  itself.  It  pos- 
sessed a  famous  grotto,  dedicated  after  the  Greek  fashion  to 
the  worship  of  Pan ;  from  the  red  sandstone  cliff  which  over- 
hung the  town  the  Jordan  itself  rushed  forth  in  clear  and 
limpid  springs ;  dominating  both  the  cliff  and  the  city  rose 
the  temple  of  white  marble  which  Herod  had  erected  in 
honor  of  Augustus.  The  ancient  pagan  Nature-worship  is 
still  attested  by  many  Greek  inscriptions  on  the  surface  of 
the  rock.  The  city  itself  has  been  described  as  a  "Syrian 
Tivoli."  Here  there  met  the  eye  of  Christ  all  the  signs  of 
that  luxurious  pagan  life  which  He  had  already  seen  in  Tyre 
and  Sidon,  but  upon  a  nobler  scale  of  grandeur  and  refine- 
ment. Splendid  villas  rose  amid  the  olive  orchards  and  the 
groves  of  oak ;  a  vast  castle,  comparable  with  the  greatest 
works  of  mediaeval  Europe,  crowned  the  heights.  Jewish 
life  was  scarcely  represented  here.  It  was  Rome  herself, 
guided  by  her  invariable  instinct  for  sites  of  natural  beauty 
and  superb  effects  of  architecture,  that  had  planted  her  im- 
perialism in  this  lovely  spot.  Northward  of  the  city  rose 
the  snowclad  heights  of  Hermon,  as  Monte  Rosa  overhangs 
the  plains  of  Lombardy.  Here  the  Holy  Land  terminated ; 
it  was  the  final  outpost  of  the  inheritance  of  Jacob  ;  and 
here  one  of  the  greatest  scenes  in  the  life  of  Jesus  wras 
transacted. 


EVENT  AT  C^SAREA  PHILIPPI      227 

The  scene  commences  with  a  question  on  the  part  of 
Christ  which  significantly  marks  the  inward  current  of  His 
thoughts.  "By  the  way,"  as  they  drew  near  to  Ctesarea 
Philippi,  Jesus  asked  His  disciples,  "Whom  do  men  say 
that  I  am  ?  "  It  was  an  interrogation  which  He  had  often 
addressed  to  His  own  consciousness.  Perhaps  He  now 
sought  corroboration  of  these  inward  thoughts,  as  friend 
may  from  friend,  seeking  to  compare  the  verdict  of  His  own 
consciousness  with  theirs.  Whatever  consciousness  Jesus 
had  of  Himself  it  was  clearly  a  gradual  and  a  growing  con- 
sciousness. We  have  already  seen  how  He  passes  by  de- 
grees from  the  conception  of  His  ministry  as  a  ministry  to 
the  house  of  Israel  to  the  wider  conception  of  it  as  a  minis- 
try to  the  Gentiles  too ;  from  His  conception  of  Himself  as 
the  Son  of  Man  to  the  loftier  conception  of  Himself  as 
dwelling  in  God,  and  therefore  in  a  special  sense  the  Son  of 
God ;  and  He  is  finally  to  overpass  both  these  spacious 
limits  and  recognize  Himself  not  as  the  Saviour  of  a  race,  or 
of  races,  but  of  the  whole  world.  It  would  seem  as  though 
veil  after  veil  were  silently  withdrawn  from  His  spirit  as  His 
perception  of  Himself  becomes  almost  daily  clearer.  As  He 
grows  into  the  consciousness  of  His  true  relation  to  God  He 
passes  in  the  same  degree  into  the  true  consciousness  of 
Himself.     His  thoughts 

"  Through  words  and  things 
"Went  sounding  on  a  dim  and  perilous  way," 

and  it  is  surely  no  irreverence  to  suppose  that  in  this  pro- 
cess there  should  be  moments  of  hesitation,  amazement,  and 
doubt.  Even  on  the  Cross  doubt  was  with  Him,  and  the 
agony  of  His  spirit,  refusing  to  be  silenced,  found  expression 
in  the  great  cry,  "  My  God,  My  God,  why  hast  Thou  for- 
saken Me?  "     All  His  intuitions  point  to  one  almost  unut- 


228  THE    LIFE    OF   CHRIST 

terable  verdict,  but  how  insecure  is  the  verdict  of  intuition 
amid  the  clamorous  materialisms  of  life !  It  is  for  Him 
now  to  repeat  the  question  of  Nicodemus,  "  How  can  these 
things  be  ?  "  Can  man  be  caught  up  into  the  blaze  of  Deity 
and  yet  be  unconsumed  ?  And  being  man,  and  still  in  the 
flesh,  Christ  turns  to  His  friends  for  sympathy,  but  scarcely 
for  enlightenment.  Whom  do  men  in  general  say  that  He  is  ? 
Whom  do  they — the  disciples — say  that  He  is  ?  They  have 
beheld  His  glory,  as  the  glory  of  the  only-begotten,  full  of 
truth  and  grace  ;  is  it  in  them  to  corroborate  in  any  way  His 
groAving  consciousness  of  Himself  ?  And,  alas,  for  the  in- 
competence of  human  judgment,  they  can  but  reply,  "  Some 
say  John  the  Baptist ;  some,  Elias ;  some,  one  of  the 
prophets !  "  And  yet  in  this  feeble  and  even  absurd  reply 
there  is  one  element  that  strikes  the  mind  at  once.  These 
men  cannot  forbear  witnessing  to  some  ineffable  quality  in 
Christ,  which,  by  the  poverty  of  language,  can  only  be  de- 
scribed as  the  quality  of  supernaturalism,  for  in  each  of 
these  confessions  He  is  compared  not  with  the  living,  but 
the  dead.  He  is  to  them  as  one  of  the  great  dead  come  to 
life  again,  as  one  of  the  master-spirits  of  the  world  reincar- 
nated. It  is  a  tribute  to  the  immortal  element  of  mystery  in 
Jesus  which  they  had  felt  and  which  the  world  has  always 
felt.  And  then  comes  the  bold  reply  of  Simon  Peter  : 
"  Thou  art  not  one  of  these,  but  one  infinitely  greater ;  Thou 
art  the  very  Christ." 

At  last  it  seems  as  though  Christ  had  gained  the  long- 
desired  corroboration  of  His  own  inmost  thoughts ;  and  yet 
Peter  is  not  less  wrong  than  the  rest  in  his  estimate  of 
Christ.  "The  Christ"— but  what  Christ?  Clearly  the 
Christ  of  common  Jewish  tradition,  a  patriot,  a  deliverer,  a 
soldier,  a  governor  of  men,  a  builder  of  empire,  a  second 
Soiomon,  a  greater  David.     That  is  the  Christ  of  Peter,  and 


EVENT  AT  C^SAREA  PHILIPPI      229 

of  all  the  disciples.  We  liave  but  to  remember  many  pages 
of  the  subsequent  history  to  see  that  their  conceptions  never 
rose  above  this  level ;  the  story  of  how  they  contested  with 
each  other  on  places  of  authority  in  the  new  kingdom  ;  of 
Judas,  the  disappointed  patriot  who  throws  the  cause  up  in 
disgust  ;  of  Peter,  the  desperate  patriot,  who  buys  a  sword 
that  he  may  die  fighting  for  his  Master.  Y^hen  Jesus  re- 
plies to  Peter  that  he  must  tell  no  man  of  Him  the  meaning 
is  clear  :  Christ  forbids  Peter  to  proclaim  such  a  Christ- 
hood  as  this.  And  then  He  proceeds  to  teach  these  men 
how  vain  their  dream  is  by  showing  them  that  "  the  Son  of 
Man  must  suffer  many  things,  and  be  rejected  of  the  elders, 
and  of  the  chief  priests,  and  scribes,  and  be  killed,  and  after 
three  days  rise  again."  The  Christhood  that  comes  through 
suffering  and  death,  and  which,  by  being  triumphant  over 
death,  rules  men  always  to  the  end  of  the  world,  is  the  spirit- 
ual Christhood  Jesus  outlines.  But  the  conception  is  at 
once  too  spiritual  and  too  sublime  for  Peter.  He  is  grieved 
and  indignant,  and  takes  Christ  aside  that  he  may  remon- 
strate with  Him.  Nothing  in  the  actions  of  this  lovable 
and  impetuous  man  brings  him  nearer  to  the  human  heart 
than  this,  for  he  does  what  all  men  of  quick  temper  and 
ardent  feeling  would  have  done.  But  not  the  less  his  error 
is  disastrous.  Unknown  to  himself,  he  plays  the  part  of 
devil's  advocate,  renewing  the  temptation  in  the  wilderness 
with  the  empty  promise  that  if  Jesus  will  but  be  a  Christ 
after  Peter's  pattern  all  the  kingdoms  of  the  world  and  the 
glory  of  them  shall  be  His.  And  therefore  Christ  addresses 
to  this  beloved  disciple  the  most  terrible  and  crushing  words 
He  ever  spoke  to  any  human  creature  :  "  Get  thee  behind 
Me,  Satan,  for  thou  savorest  not  of  the  things  of  God,  but 
the  things  that  be  of  men."  And  then,  with  this  noble 
sternness  still  vibrating  in  His  voice,  He  calls  the  people  to 


230  THE    LIFE' OF   CHRIST 

Him,  and  addresses  to  them  a  truth  which  He  has  long- 
since  accepted  for  Himself  :  "  What  shall  it  profit  a  man  if 
he  shall  gain  the  whole  world  and  lose  his  own  soul  ? " 
While  He  speaks  perhaps  He  sees  upon  the  heights  of  this 
Roman  city  a  Cross  standing  black  against  the  midday  sky, 
and  a  sudden  intense  prevision  of  His  own  ends  assails 
Him.  "  Whosoever  will  come  after  Me,  let  him  take  up  his 
cross  and  follow  Me,"  He  cries.  This  is  the  predestined 
road  of  all  Messiahship,  this  the  end  at  which  the  Christ s  of 
truth  and  love  arrive.  These  men  can  tell  Him  nothing 
after  all ;  He  alone  knows  Himself.  For  an  instant  He  has 
leaned  on  others  for  corroboration  of  His  own  consciousness 
of  Himself,  and  they  have  miserably  failed  Him.  The  soli- 
tary ineffable  witness  of  His  own  spirit  alone  can  sustain 
Him ;  the  last  veil  is  lifted  from  His  heart,  and  He  sees 
Himself  foredoomed  to  die  as  man  before  the  world  shall 
recognize  Him  as  God. 

This  conversation  occured  upon  the  way  to  Csesarea 
Philippi,  probably  when  the  band  of  disciples  already  stood 
almost  at  its  gate.  Peter,  who  is  generally  credited  with  the 
reminiscences  which  pass  under  the  name  of  St.  Mark, 
records  it  against  himself  with  a  merciless  magnanimity.  St. 
Matthew,  however,  gives  another  version  of  the  incident, 
which  leads  us  to  suppose  that  the  conversation  was  con- 
tinued in  Ca'sarea  Philippi  itself.  It  is  at  least  likely 
that  so  grave  a  theme  was  not  summarily  dismissed. 
Peter  especially  would  have  cause  to  seek  its  re- 
newed discussion.  Through  the  bitter  dreams  of  that  sad 
night  the  words  of  Christ  would  haunt  him.  Perhaps 
Christ,  ever  full  of  a  peculiar  tenderness  for  Peter,  gave  His 
erring  disciple  the  opportunity  of  once  more  affirming  his 
faith,  and  this  time  without  the  reservations  of  timidity  and 
ignorance.     But  however  this  may  be,  St.  Matthew  records  a. 


EVENT  AT  GdESAREA  PHILIPPI      231 

saying  of  Christ's  to  Peter  which  has  been  a  rock  of  offence 
indeed  to  all  readers  of  the  Gospels  through  many  genera- 
tions. In  this  second  conversation,  if  such  it  was,  Peter  not 
only  accepts  Christ  as  the  Messiah,  but  adds,  "  Thou  art  the 
Son  of  the  living  God."  Christ  replies  with  a  play  on 
words,  which  is  almost  lost  in  the  process  of  translation. 
The  city  of  Csesarea  Philippi,  founded  on  a  rock  and  grow- 
ing like  a  superb  flower  of  stone  out  of  the  living  rock,  sug- 
gests a  metaphor,  "  Thou  art  Peter,  that  is  a  stone,"  says 
Jesus.  "  Thou  art  indomitable  as  this  very  rock  on  which 
this  city  rises.  From  thy  lips  has  come  a  great  confession 
which  shall  also  be  as  the  rock  for  durability.  Upon  it  I 
will  found  My  Church.  Here,  at  Caesarea  Philippi,  a  rock- 
built  city,  shall  the  first  course  in  the  masonry  of  the  tem- 
ple of  Eternal  truth  be  laid,  and  the  gates  of  hell  shall  not 
prevail  against  it.  Through  all  the  ages  shall  thy  name, 
Peter,  or  the  Rock,  be  associated  with  the  firm  foundation  of 
My  Church :  and  thy  confession,  which  gives  Me  an  author- 
ity never  claimed  by  John,  or  Elijah,  or  the  prophets, 
shall  be  the  everlasting  Rock  of  ages  on  which  it  shall  be 
built." 

Enigmatic  as  these  words  are,  yet  they  are,  however,  pre- 
cise and  clear  compared  with  those  that  follow.  For,  ac- 
cording to  St.  Matthew's  version,  Christ  then  goes  on  to  say 
to  the  man  whom  He  had  but  yesterday  addressed  as  Satan, 
"And  I  will  give  unto  thee  the  keys  of  the  kingdom  of 
heaven,  and  whatsoever  thou  shalt  bind  on  earth  shall  be 
bound  in  heaven,  and  whatsoever  thou  shalt  loose  on  earth 
shall  be  loosed  in  heaven."  Yet  these  words  also  are  capa- 
ble of  a  simple  explanation.  Jesus  was  now  speaking  as  a 
Jew,  in  language  which  no  Jew  could  misunderstand.  The 
Jewish  Rabbi  was  credited  with  a  power  of  binding  and 
loosing,  in  the  sense  of  prohibiting  and  permitting.     In  all 


232  THE    LIFE    OF   CHRIST 

matters  relating  to  the  etiquette  of  sacrifice,  or  to  cases  of 
compensation  under  the  Mosaic  law,  the  Rabbi  claimed  a 
supreme  judicial  power.  In  spite  of  the  Pharisaic  insistence 
on  the  strict  letter  of  the  law,  to  its  last  jot  and  tittle,  the 
Rabbis  judged  the  cases  that  came  before  them  on  their 
merits,  inflicting  or  moderating  punishment  as  they  thought 
lit.  What  Christ  really  does  is  nothing  more  nor  less 
than  to  invest  Peter  with  the  power  of  the  Rabbi.  He  indi- 
cates that  with  this  formal  establishment  of  His  kingdom  the 
power  of  the  ancient  Rabbi  to  bind  or  loose  is  at  an  end. 
As  if  to  compensate  Peter  for  his  great  humiliation,  Christ 
now  shows  him  that  he  is  a  member  of  a  new  fraternity  more 
august  and  more  enduring  than  the  Judaism  which  he  has 
renounced.  That  is  the  real  meaning  of  Christ's  words. 
The  best  proofs  that  they  do  not  cover,  and  were  not  meant 
to  imply,  any  sacerdotal  theory  of  absolution,  is  that  Peter 
never  made  the  least  pretension  to  such  authority ;  and  even 
if  he  had  it  would  not  have  been  permitted  for  an  instant  in 
a  society  so  democratic  as  the  early  Church.  So  far  was 
Peter  from  becoming  the  spiritual  autocrat  of  this  Church, 
that  the  balance  of  authority  lay  not  with  him,  but  with 
Paul,  an  apostle  who  had  never  seen  Jesus  in  the  flesh,  and 
to  whom  Christ  had  never  spoken.  It  is  Paul  who  threatens 
excommunication  on  those  who  disagree  with  him,  but  Peter 
never  once  indulges  in  such  language.  Those,  therefore,  who 
found  extravagant  theories  of  priestly  authority  and  absolu- 
tion upon  these  words  of  Christ  to  Peter,  have  to  solve  a 
problem  to  which  history  affords  no  solution ;  viz.,  how  it  is 
that  Peter  never  claimed  this  power,  never  exercised  it,  and 
tamely  let  the  primacy  of  Christianity  pass  from  his  hands 
to  the  unauthorized  and  abler  hands  of  Saul  of  Tarsus? 

Jesus   passed  a  whole  week  in  Ca?sarea  Philippi  in  pro- 
found meditation.     The  conversations  recorded  by  the  Evan- 


EVENT  AT  C7ESAREA   PHILIPPI      233 

gelists  are  no  doubt  typical  of  many  similar  discussions  be- 
tween Him  and  the  disciples.  Wandering  through  these 
groves  and  olive  gardens,  as  Socrates  had  wandered  in  the 
olive  gardens  on  the  Eleusinian  road,  surrounded  by  his 
friends,  Jesus  uttered  His  inmost  thoughts  in  mystic  lan- 
guage. A  mounting  ecstasy  possessed  His  mind,  the  sacred 
and  the  sad  inebriation  of  the  pre-doomed  martyr.  The  dis- 
ciples as  they  watched  Him  were  filled  with  awe  and  con- 
sternation, alternating  with  strangely  thrilling  moments  of 
insight  and  belief.  It  was  in  these  olive  gardens  of  Gesarea 
Philippi  that  the  thought  of  His  Deity  was  born.  Dear  as 
He  was  to  them  in  all  the  intimacies  of  familiar  friendship, 
yet  there  were  moments  when  they  trembled  at  His  touch, 
His  glance,  His  words.  It  had  been  so  once  before,  when 
He  had  come  to  them  across  the  darkness  of  the  Galilean 
lake,  and  they  had  cried  out  in  terror,  believing  Him  to  be  a 
spirit.  Before  their  eyes  the  human  seemed  dissolved ;  the 
poor  appanage  of  flesh  and  blood  withdrew  like  a  veil,  leav- 
ing the  wonder  of  the  soul  uncovered.  And,  as  if  to  con- 
firm these  astonishing  impressions,  at  the  end  of  the  week 
there  happened  an  event  that  seemed  especially  designed  for 
the  strengthening  of  their  faith  in  this  Divine  element  in 
Jesus,  which  they  had  so  vaguely  apprehended.  "  He  bring- 
eth  them  up  into  a  high  mountain  apart,  and  was  transfigured 
before  them." 

The  mountain  thus  described  was  Hermon,  the  only  high 
and  isolated  mountain  in  the  neighborhood  of  Cresarea  Phil- 
ippi. Hermon  is  a  mountain  of  a  triple  peak,  the  one  snow- 
clad  mountain  in  Palestine.  It  dominates  the  entire  land, 
and  is  visible  even  as  far  south  as  Jerusalem  itself.  It  was 
toward  evening  when  Jesus  approached  it,  and  St.  Luke  tells 
us  that  he  went  there  to  pray.  This  would  be  in  accord  with 
all  His  habits.     The  solitude  and  serenity  of  mountain  seen- 


234  THE    LIFE    OF    CHRIST 

ery  appealed  deeply  to  Him,  and  whenever  He  would  be 
alone  He  fled  to  tlie  mountains  as  to  a  natural  sanctuary. 
The  scene  that  now  met  His  eyes  may  perhaps  be  best  de- 
scribed from  the  recollections  of  recent  travelers,  who  agree 
in  their  descriptions  of  the  exquisite  beauty  and  almost 
unique  grandeur  of  this  mountain  range. 

Let  us  picture,  then,  Hermon  itself  in  all  that  strange  pomp 
of  sunset  which  nowhere  reaches  such  a  fine  excess  as  in  the 
East.  From  immemorial  time  it  had  been  a  sacred  mountain 
not  only  to  the  Jew,  but  to  the  Phoenicians  and  the  Greeks 
who  had  been  before  them,  and  to  many  primitive  races  Avho 
had  preceded  these.  On  its  lower  slopes  many  shrines  and 
temples  rose,  sometimes  crowning  rocky  steeps,  sometimes 
hidden  in  deep  ravines ;  and  the  memory  of  these  many 
sanctuaries  was  in  the  mind  of  Peter  when  later  on  he  sug- 
gested that  they  should  build  three  tabernacles  here,  as  the 
memorials  of  a  perpetual  worship.  As  Jesus  and  his  three 
favorite  disciples  climbed  these  lower  slopes  the  first  solemn 
obsequies  of  day  were  being  celebrated.  A  rose-colored  fire 
burned  upon  the  triple  peaks,  deepening  into  ruby,  and  pass- 
ing by  a  score  of  swift  gradations  into  violet  and  purple. 
Far  to  the  southward  lay  the  Sea  of  Galilee,  like  an  ame- 
thyst in  its  delicate  setting  of  golden  hills.  Over  the  vast 
eastern  plain  a  long  "pyramidal  shadow  slid,"  swallowiug  up 
the  city  of  Damascus  and  its  belts  of  verdure :  "  it  was  the 
shadow  of  the  mountain  itself  stretching  away  for  seventy 
miles  across  the  plain."  Soon  the  four  pilgrims  reached  the 
region  of  the  snow,  and  the  gorgeous  colors  of  the  sunset 
die  away  in  the  deathlike  pallor.  The  stars  appear,  hanging 
like  lamps  above  the  snowy  peaks,  and  before  the  darkness 
has  time  to  fall  the  moon  shines  out  in  dazzling  splendor. 
Still  the  pilgrims  ascend,  till  the  air  grows  difficult,  and 
sleep  falls  upon  them.     The  three  disciples  wrap  themselves 


EVENT  AT  CjESAREA   PHILIPPI      235 

eacli  in  his  cloak  and  lie  down  to  rest.  Jesus  goes  on  alone, 
thrilling  with  the  elation  not  only  of  the  scene  and  hour,  but 
oi  His  own  ecstatic  thoughts.  Over  Herinon  gathers  a  cap 
of  dazzling  mist,  and  now  the  mountain,  washed  with  moon- 
light, glows  like  silver,  and  the  deep  midnight  silence  reigns. 
Suddenly  the  disciples  wake,  startled  with  a  sense  of  mingled 
joy  and  terror.  They  behold  Jesus  clothed  with  the  glory 
of  this  wondrous  moonlight,  so  that  His  face  shines,  and 
"His  raiment  is  white  as  the  light."  Bemused  and  won- 
derstruck  they  hear  as  it  were  the  murmur  of  distant  voices 
in  Divine  discourse.  The  nature  of  their  own  conversations 
with  the  Lord  in  Ca3sarea  Philippi  is  recollected,  and  it 
seems  to  them  they  hear  the  very  voices  of  Moses  and  Elias. 
Before  they  can  speak,  before  they  can  approach  the  dazzling 
apparition  of  their  Lord,  the  cloud  from  the  brow  of  Her- 
mon  rolls  down  like  a  sheet  of  light,  and  from  the  cloud. a 
voice  appears  to  say,  "  This  is  My  beloved  Son,  in  whom  I 
am  well  pleased ;  hear  ye  Him."  A  shock  of  terror  seizes 
them,  and  they  fall  upon  the  ground,  and  hide  their  faces. 
The  frail  appanage  of  flesh  and  blood,  which  they  had  al- 
ready seen  as  the  veil  through  which  the  Divine  Soul  of  Jesus 
had  shone  forth,  is  quite  dissolved.  The  cloud  rolls  lower, 
and  overwhelms  them  too.  They  grope  for  One  who  seems 
already  taken  from  them,  and  received  in  the  temple  of  the 
Highest.  Then  the  cloud  passes,  and  they  see  no  man  but 
Jesus  only.  Wonder,  awe,  and  joy  fill  all  their  thoughts. 
They  are  no  longer  masters  of  themselves,  and  Peter,  ever 
the  spokesman  of  their  thoughts,  can  only  feel  the  holiness 
of  the  place  and  hour,  and  suggest  the  building  of  three  tem- 
ples on  the  mountain.  They  dare  not  even  speak  of  what 
they  have  seen  and  heard  to  their  fellow-disciples.  TVTien  at 
last  the  day  breaks  and  they  descend  the  mountain  it  is  with 
sealed  lips  they  go ;  but  deep  in  each  heart  is  the  thrilling 


236  THE    LIFE    OF   CHRIST 

knowledge  that  tliey  have  stood  close  to  the  gate  of  heaven 
as  Jacob  did,  and  have  seen  in  Jesus  the  first  full  gleam  of 
that  incredible  divinity,  which  they  will  disclose  hereafter  to 
a  wondering  world. 

If  we  may  thus  seek  to  give  this  extraordinary  scene  its 
natural  setting,  it  is  not  because  it  can  be  explained  away  by 
any  circumstances  of  the  place  and  hour.  The  awfumess  of 
midnight  on  a  mountain  in  its  known  effect  of  quickening 
imaginative  thought;  the  sudden  descent  of  a  cloud  from 
Hermon,  commented  on  by  many  travelers ;  the  moonlight 
bathing  the  mystic  figure  of  the  solitary  Christ,  and  making 
it  appear  etherealized  and  transfigured  :  all  these  are  intel- 
ligible features  of  the  scene,  but  they  afford  no  explanation 
that  is  adequate  and  final.  The  truth  is  that  we  leave  the 
plain  ground  of  rational  inference  here,  as  the  disciples  left 
the  roads  of  Ctesarea  Philippi  when  they  ascended  Hermon, 
and  we  enter  on  a  realm  of  vague  and  sacred  mystery.  One 
thing  at  least  is  clear :  a  story  so  incredible  to  human  un- 
derstanding could  not  have  been  invented  by  these  men  of 
Galilee.  Why  should  they  invent  a  tale,  of  the  utmost  con- 
sequence in  the  history  of  their  Master,  which  they  were  for- 
bidden to  relate  ?  If  they  had  perceived  its  real  importance 
why  should  they  have  represented  themselves  not  as  vigilant 
spectators  of  the  scene  as  we  should  expect,  but  as  bemused 
and  but  half  awake,  with  the  implication  that  what  they  re- 
lated as  sober  fact  was  after  all  but  a  sort  of  waking  dream  ? 
Or,  we  may  ask  again,  was  it  possible  for  such  men  to  invent 
a  story  so  exquisite  and  wonderful,  that  it  would  excite  sur- 
prise and  admiration  in  the  writings  of  the  highest  genius? 
Even  had  they  attempted  a  deliberate  invention,  there  was 
nothing  in  Jewish  legend  to  suggest  this  scene.  It  is  of  the 
nature  of  a  myth  that  it  can  be  easily  traced,  as  a  rule,  to 
some  germ-cell  of  tradition ;  but  here  tradition  affords  no 


EVENT  AT  CjESAREA  PHILIPPI      237 

clue.  A  Messiah  might,  indeed,  have  been  conceived  as 
having  some  spiritual  affinity  with  Moses  and  Elijah,  but 
never  as  conversing  with  them  on  the  painful  theme  of  His 
ignominious  death.  Moreover,  the  three  Evangelists  who 
narrate  this  story  do  so  without  a  shade  of  difference  in  their 
language.  They  each  represent  the  disciples  as  stupefied 
I  iv  what  they  saw.  They  each  represent  the  spiritual  drama 
they  beheld  as  transcending  all  their  habitual  thoughts  of 
Christ,  so  that  no  one  can  be  more  surprised  in  reading  their 
narration  of  the  scene  than  were  they  in  witnessing  it.  We 
may  perhaps  say  that  something  natural  really  happened  to 
which  they  gave  a  supernatural  meaning ;  but  this  only 
brings  us  back  to  the  original  difficulty  of  then*  entire  in- 
competence to  invent  these  very  features  which  make  the 
scene  so  astonishing.  At  this  point  rational  criticism  ceases, 
for  a  while  it  may  suggest  a  doubt,  it  cannot  afford  an  ex- 
planation. 

But  if  we  read  the  story  in-  the  light  of  all  that  had  oc- 
curred in  Ciesarea  Philippi,  we  see  it  as  a  final  sequence  in 
a  chain  of  causes.  Jesus  comes  to  this  remote  city  for  the 
purpose  of  a  spiritual  retreat.  His  days  are  passed  in 
prayer  and  sacred  ecstasy.  He  is  engaged  in  profound 
meditation  on  the  mystery  of  Himself.  He  has  reconciled 
Himself  to  the  purpose  of  a  sacrificial  death,  and  is  thus 
emancipated  from  the  tyranny  of  death.  The  result  of  this 
emancipation  is  a  great  access  of  spiritual  life.  The  body 
can  no  longer  contain  these  energies  of  the  spirit  He 
knows  Himself  an  emanation  of  God ;  in  the  "  abyssmal 
depth  of  personality  "  a  voice  speaks,  assuring  Him  of  im- 
mortal triumph  over  all  His  earthly  foes.  Filled  with  these 
lofty  thoughts,  already  nearly  emancipated  from  the  normal 
limitations  of  time  and  space  and  sense,  He  goes  to  Hermon 
at  midnight,  gathering  His  soul  up  in  one  intense  effort  of 


238  THE    LIFE    OF   CHRIST 

communion  with  the  infinite.  What  happened  on  Hermon 
was  the  outward  projection  of  these  inner  experiences.  He 
finds  Himself  able  for  an  instant  to  enter  into  that  spiritual 
world  which  lies  around  the  little  earthly  life.  If  man  is  in- 
deed a  spirit,  such  an  experience,  at  least  in  some  rare  and 
singular  instance,  should  not  be  impossible  to  him.  It  was 
certainly  known  to  St.  Paul,  who  speaks  of  a  period  of 
ecstasy  so  intense  that  he  knew  not  whether  he  was  in  the 
body  or  out  of  the  body.  But  Jesus  had  already  overpassed 
the  boundaries  of  the  human  and  knew  what  it  meant  to  live 
habitually  in  the  unseen.  He  had  merged  His  will  com- 
pletely in  the  Divine  will.  As  man  "  dies  not  wholly  but  by 
the  death  of  the  will,"  so  he  lives  not  as  a  spirit  save  by  the 
death  of  the  will.  In  the  hour  that  man's  will  is  perfectly 
subdued  to  God's,  man  becomes  as  God.  This  hour  Jesus 
knew  on  Hermon.  He  has  become  pure  spirit,  for  whom 
earth  is  no  more  a  prison ;  and  He  can  converse  with 
spiritual  presences,  and  stand  undismayed  in  the  splen- 
dor of  that  eternal  world,  which  is  the  world  of  His  real 
nativity. 

"  To  any  man,"  says  a  great  writer,  "  there  may  come  at 
times  a  consciousness  that  there  blows  through  all  the  artic- 
ulations of  his  body  the  wind  of  a  spirit  not  wholly  his,  that 
another  girds  him  and  carries  him  whither  he  would  not." 
On  Hermon  Jesus  is  ivplifted  by  such  a  wind  of  the  Spirit. 
In  the  sudden  momentary  dissolution  of  all  material  bonds 
He  pre-dates  the  experience  of  death.  He  foretastes  the  "  in- 
expressive lightness  "  and  the  freedom  of  a  spirit  that  has 
survived  the  pang  of  separation  from  the  body.  Like  the 
cloud  on  Hermon,  He  floats  for  an  instant  iar  above  the 
gross  material  world  upon  a  tide  of  splendor.  He  is  as  the 
angels  of  God ;  he  is  kin  with  those  pure  intelligences  who 
dwell  in  the  temple  of  the  infinite.     The  transfiguration  is 


EVENT  AT  C^SAREA  PHILIPPI      230 

thus  the  visible  symbol  of  the  triumph  of  the  spiritual  na- 
ture of  man  over  the  physical. 

The  impression  which  this  extraordinary  scene  made  on 
the  disciples  was  deep  and  permanent.  It  was  true  they  did 
not  speak  of  it ;  it  is  yet  more  strangely  true  that  they  even 
appear  to  have  forgotten  it  amid  the  horrors  of  the  closing 
tragedy.  It  is  not  in  human  nature  to  maintain  itself  for 
long  at  the  rare  height  of  its  noblest  hours.  But  those 
hours  are  not  forgotten,  though  they  may  appear  to  be  so ; 
they  are  as  a  thrilling  music  heard  at  intervals  below  the 
surface  trivialities  of  life,  they  are  as  a  brighter  thread  of 
color  woven  into  the  grey  texture  of  the  commonplace.  More 
than  thirty  years  later  Peter  recorded  his  impressions  of  this 
wonderful  and  sacred  night  on  Hermon.  He  had  learned  to 
estimate  it  rightly.  He  knew  it  then  as  the  greatest  moment 
he  had  ever  known.  "  For,"  said  he,  "  we  have  not  followed 
cunningly  devised  fables,  when  we  made  known  unto  you  the 
power  and  coming  of  our  Lord  Jesus  Christ,  but  were  eye- 
witnesses of  His  majesty.  For  He  received  from  God  the 
Father  honor  and  glory,  when  there  came  such  a  voice  to 
Him  from  the  excellent  glory,  This  is  My  beloved  Son,  in 
whom  I  am  well  pleased.  And  this  voice  which  came  from 
heaven  we  heard,  when  we  were  with  Him  in  the  holy 
mount." 


CHAPTEE  XVIII 

THE   FAREWELL   TO    GALILEE 

The  greatest  crisis  of  Christ's  life  was  now  over.  The 
Transfiguration  marks  the  beginning  of  a  period  of  exulta- 
tion which  is  only  closed  with  His  death.  The  idealist  and 
poet  of  the  Galilean  Lake,  uttering  parables  and  aphorisms 
which  irresistibly  attract  all  minds,  no  more  exists.  The 
infinite  sweetness  of  His  temper  is  modified  by  the  encroach- 
ment of  stern  and  terrible  thoughts.  He  has  passed  outside 
human  nature ;  He  moves  henceforth  at  a  great  height  above 
it.  His  relations  with  His  disciples  are  often  strained,  and 
the  old  familiar  intimacy  has  given  place  to  awe.  His 
brethren  doubt  His  sanity,  and  even  go  so  far  as  to  declare 
that  He  is  mad.  There  are  indeed  exquisite  moments  when 
He  speaks  and  acts  once  more  as  a  poet,  and  these  occur  to 
the  end ;  but  they  daily  become  more  infrequent.  An  im- 
mitigable flame  of  Divine  ardor  consumes  Him.  He  ex- 
presses His  thoughts  with  new  and  alarming  energy.  He 
lias  clothed  Himself  in  the  raiment  of  the  Judge,  who  boldly 
arraigns  and  condemns  the  existing  forms  of  society.  The 
solemnities  and  pomps  of  a  day  of  final  judgment  hang  like 
a  lurid  cloud  over  all  His  thoughts,  and  He  pictures  Him- 
self as  seated  in  the  heavens  or  coming  with  great  power 
and  glory  to  conduct  the  final  assize  of  the  human  race. 

Let  us  briefly  recapitulate  the  position  of  affairs  when 
Jesus  descends  from  the  snowy  heights  of  Hermon,  and  sets 
His  face  steadfastly  toward  Jerusalem.  In  Jerusalem  itself 
He  has  had  no  success,  and  He  knows  now  that  all  attempts 

240 


THE  FAREWELL  TO  GALILEE       241 

which  He  may  make  to  win  the  subborn  city  are  foredoomed 
to  failure.  It  is  the  appointed  theatre  of  His  martyrdom ; 
there  He  will  be  taken  by  the  elders  and  the  scribes  and  put 
to  death,  for  it  cannot  be  that  a  prophet  shall  perish  out  of 
Jerusalem.  Galilee  itself  has  greatly  cooled  toward  Him. 
Capernaum  and  Bethsaida,  places  for  which  He  had  a  special 
love,  receive  Him  with  such  indifference  or  disdain,  that  He 
is  driven  to  denounce  them.  From  one  district  bordering  on 
the  Lake  He  has  been  expelled,  the  whole  population  be- 
seeching  Him  to  depart  out  of  their  coasts.  Nazareth  itself, 
dear  to  Him  by  a  thousand  memories  of  childhood  and 
youth,  has  long  since  affirmed  its  complete  contempt  for 
Him.  Even  Samaria  is  now  hostile  to  Him.  Enemies  have 
multiplied,  and  they  are  no  longer  confined  to  the  scribes  and 
Pharisees.  His  words  are  watched,  His  deeds  are  canvassed, 
His  every  movement  is  reported  to  those  eager  to  find  a  pre- 
text for  destroying  Him.  Herod,  encouraged  by  the  ease 
with  which  he  has  swept  John  from  his  path,  desires  to  kill 
Him.  Hitherto  His  great  security  had  been  the  favor  of  the 
populace.  The  dread  of  precipitating  some  insurrectionary 
movement  which  would  provoke  retaliation  from  the  Romans 
had  held  the  hands  of  His  enemies.  A  terrible  dilemma 
now  meets  Him.  If  He  would  keep  the  favor  of  the  people 
He  must  declare  Himself  a  king ;  if  He  rejects  the  part  they 
would  assign  Him,  He  at  once  alienates  the  popularity  which 
is  His  sole  protection  against  the  priestly  inquisition  at  Jeru- 
salem. He  is  in  the  most  hopeless  of  all  positions — that  of 
a  revolutionary  leader  who  has  failed.  It  alters  nothing  in 
the  situation  to  say  that  He  has  deliberately  failed.  He  may 
have  the  best  of  reasons  for  such  conduct,  but  they  are  not 
reasons  which  the  populace  will  respect  or  understand.  The 
mob  asks  boldness  in  its  leaders ;  it  will  forgive,  or  even  ad- 
mire, an  unscrupulous  ambition.  But  the  one  thing  which  a 
16 


242  THE    LIFE    OF   CHRIST 

mob  will  riot  forgive  is  some  honorable  scruple  in  a  leader 
which  prevents  him  from  accepting  the  fruits  of  victory  ;  this 
they  can  only  regard  as  absurd  timidity  or  deliberate  be- 
trayal. In  such  a  case  the  estranged  and  disappointed 
friend  becomes  the  most  revengeful  enemy ;  and  this  Jesus 
found  in  that  day  when  the  populace  itself  demanded  His 
crucifixion  at  the  hands  of  Pilate. 

This  was  the  position  which  met  Jesus  on  His  return  from 
Cpesarea  Philippi.  He  would  have  been  impervious  to  all 
ordinary  human  emotion  if  He  had  not  felt  it  deeply.  No 
sadder  thing  can  happen  to  a  great  teacher  than  to  revisit 
the  scenes  of  some  conspicuous  success,  and  to  find  himself 
forgotten.  The  least  vain  or  selfish  of  men  may  fondly  hope 
that  the  good  which  he  has  done  will  be  gratefully  remem- 
bered. It  seems  incredible  to  him  that  all  the  infinite  ex- 
penditure of  tenderness  and  love,  of  energy  and  thought, 
which  he  has  lavished  on  his  work  should  have  left  so  little 
mark.  And  perhaps  the  way  in  which  such  a  teacher  meets 
such  hours  of  disappointment  affords  the  severest  and  there- 
fore the  completest  test  of  the  greatness  of  his  character. 
Jesus  not  merely  survives  the  test,  but  comes  out  of  it 
triumphantly.  He  looks  with  tears  upon  a  recreant  Caper- 
naum, but  they  are  tears  not  of  weakness,  but  of  pit}*.  His 
composure  is  complete,  and  it  takes  a  new  form  of  almost 
unearthly  tranquillity.  With  all  the  emblems  of  defeat 
around  Him  He  speaks  of  a  peace  He  has  which  the  world 
can  neither  give  nor  take  away.  His  sublime  confidence  in 
Himself  rises  in  the  degree  of  the  scorn  which  the  world 
pours  upon  Him.  So  far  is  He  from  moderating  His  claim 
to  obedience  that  He  announces  it  afresh  in  terms  that  seem 
wildly  extravagant.  He  who  had  once  tolerantly  welcomed 
as  disciples  men  of  little  faith  now  demands  an  absolute 
faith  which  rejects  all  conditions.     Men  must  love  Him  more 


THE  FAREWELL  TO  GALILEE       243 

than  wife  or  child,  mother  or  father.  They  must  follow  Him 
instantly,  and  not  even  return  to  then-  homes  to  bury  the 
dead.  He  who  looks  back  with  even  one  reluctant  glance  is 
not  worthy  of  Him.  All  the  claims  of  nature,  all  the  bonds 
of  social  duty,  are  dissolved ;  He  alone  presents  a  truly  sa- 
cred claim.  Not  for  nothing  does  man  transcend  human 
nature  and  soar  beyond  it ;  henceforth  he  moves  upon  a 
lonely  height  where  few  can  follow  him.  From  the  night  of 
the  Transfiguration  Jesus  is  alone,  and  evermore  alone.  In 
hours  of  sweet  relenting,  the  cloud  of  glory  is  withdrawn,  the 
heights  of  solitary  rapture  are  forsaken,  and  He  is  again 
pure  man,  weeping  beside  a  grave,  or  offering  His  bosom  to 
the  weariness  of  a  beloved  disciple ;  but  how  brief  the  re- 
spite !  He  appears,  He  is  lost :  with  a  kind  of  terror  the 
disciples  see  the  transfiguration  of  the  human  into  something 
higher  perpetually  renewed,  the  vanishing  of  the  familiar,  the 
expanding  of  the  flame  of  deity — their  Christ  ever  more  and 
more  withdrawn  from  them,  till  His  voice  reaches  them  out  of 
some  unearthly  height,  in  a  language  that  is  hard  to  under- 
stand. "  And,"  says  Peter,  in  his  one  recorded  reminiscence 
of  these  terrible  and  thrilling  hours,  "  they  were  in  the  way 
going  up  to  Jerusalem,  and  Jesus  went  before  them ;  and 
they  were  amazed,  and  as  they  followed  they  were  afraid." 

This  exaltation  of  mind,  which  never  left  Jesus  after  His 
return  from  Hermon,  may  well  have  seemed  insanity  to  those 
who  had  hitherto  regarded  Him  only  as  an  amiable  idealist 
and  poet.  There  can  be  no  doubt  that  some  of  these  sayings 
which  inculcated  an  absolute  rejection  of  all  claims  of  the 
natural  life  for  His  sake  did  contain  a  germ  of  peril  which 
bore  disastrous  fruit.  They  have  become  the  sanction  of 
monasticism.  Leaving  home  and  kindred  for  the  sake  of 
Christ  has  been  used  as  the  synonym  of  a  cloistral  life.  The 
praise  of  those  who  had  rejected  marriage  for  the  Kingdom 


244  THE    LIFE    OF   CHRIST 

of  God's  sake,  lias  been  construed  into  the  praise  of  celibacy. 
A  seed  of  asceticism  was  thus  sowed  in  the  early  Church 
which  no  passage  of  time  has  been  competent  to  sterilize. 
The  meaning  of  Christ  is,  however,  perfectly  clear.  Wrought 
into  a  Divine  ecstasy  by  the  passion  of  sacrifice,  He  is  right 
in  insisting  that  those  who  would  follow  Him  must  them- 
selves be  prepared  for  the  greatest  sacrifices.  The  crowds 
who  listened  with  delighted  minds  to  the  discourses  of  the 
Lake  need  to  be  assured  that  an  age  of  martrydom  is  near. 
He  alone  is  the  appointed  Judge  of  men,  and  men  who  share 
this  terrible  belief  will  naturally  count  the  loss  of  all  things 
light  to  win  His  favorable  verdict.  It  is  necessary  to  put 
this  truth  with  passionate  vehemence  that  it  may  win  atten- 
tion at  all.  No  reformer  succeeds  by  asking  little  of  men ; 
the  more  extreme  is  his  demand  the  more  likely  is  it  to  meet 
with  obedience.  The  finest  natures  find  a  joy  in  sacrifice 
more  inebriating  than  the  fullest  joys  of  pleasure  and  indul- 
gence. To  renounce  earthly  joy  is  in  itself  a  higher  joy. 
Christ  thus  speaks  in  language  which  reveals  profound  ac- 
quaintance with  the  human  heart.  What  is  insanity  to  the 
base  is  the  loftiest  reason  to  the  noble.  It  is  true  that  such 
language  cannot  be  used  without  risk,  but  the  risk  must  be 
taken  for  the  sake  of  the  wider  good  it  purchases  in  the  re- 
invigoration  of  the  most  unselfish  instincts  of  the  human 
heart.  That  Christ  never  meant  to  inculcate  an  ascetic  life 
is  clear  from  the  nature  of  His  own  life,  which  pursued  its 
course  of  friendly  sociality  even  to  the  foot  of  Calvary. 
What  He  did  desire  was  to  communicate  to  others  His  own 
spiritual  exaltations,  and  to  make  them  feel  what  He  had 
felt — that  renunciation  was  the  supreme  joy.  When  Peter, 
filled  with  astonishment  at  these  teachings,  replied  that  at 
least  he  and  his  fellow-disciples  had  left  all  things  for 
Christ's  sake,  Christ's  reply  is  that  he  had  lost  nothing  by 


THE  FAREWELL  TO  GALILEE       245 

his  bargain.  He  liad  been  more  than  compensated  in  the 
world  of  new  affections  he  had  found,  and  in  the  world  to 
come  he  would  win  eternal  life. 

This  exaltation  of  mind  was  necessary  to  Jesus  for  the 
consummation  of  His  work.  The  saying  that  "whom  the 
gods  would  destroy  they  first  make  mad  "  may  surely  have  a 
higher  meaning  than  that  which  is  commonly  attributed  to 
it :  may  it  not  stand  as  a  debased  version  of  that  Divine 
inebriation  of  the  spirit  which  alone  can  invigorate  the  mar- 
tyr to  approach  the  hour  of  his  agony  with  fortitude  ?  In 
proportion  to  the  gathering  signs  of  defeat  the  reformer 
needs  to  be  borne  aloft  on  some  wave  of  sublime  self-esteem, 
to  rely  utterly  upon  himself,  to  be  so  assured  of  the  truth  of 
his  position  that  he  is  insensible  to  reproach,  defection,  and 
calamity.  Never  was  there  a  great  teacher  who  faced  a 
situation  so  full  of  the  material  for  despair  as  that  which 
met  Christ  in  Galilee.  The  Lake  itself,  notorious  for  its 
sudden  changes,  was  the  apt  symbol  of  this  fickle  people, 
who  had  seen  a  hundred  miracles  and  had  forgotten  them. 
The  Pharisees,  taking  advantage  of  Christ's  absence,  had 
sown  everywhere  the  seeds  of  innuendo,  suspicion,  dis- 
affection. Perhaps  it  was  this  very  image  which  was  in  the 
mind  of  Christ,  when  He  drewT  His  daring  picture  of  the  evil 
one  who  came  by  night  and  sowed  the  tares  amid  the  good 
seed  of  the  Kingdom.  His  disciples,  in  spite  of  all  His  in- 
timate conversations  with  them,  were  utterly  adverse  to  His 
journey  to  Jerusalem.  They  were  full  of  gloomy  prognosti- 
cations, which  they  took  no  pains  to  conceal.  It  was  indeed 
hard  to  know  where  He  could  turn  for  safety ;  in  the 
tetrarchy  of  Herod  armed  men  awaited  Him,  in  Jerusalem  the 
unanimous  malice  of  the  priests.  One  course  was  indeed 
open ;  He  might  resign  His  mission.  The  world  could  give 
Him    nothing ;    He    might    have    disappeared   among   the 


246  THE    LIFE    OF   CHRIST 

mountains  as  Elijah  did,  seeking  to  cultivate  in  perfect  soli- 
tude the  high  and  separated  life  of  the  religious  mystic.  But 
resignation  is  the  last  weapon  of  the  weak,  and  it  hurts 
most  the  hand  that  uses  it.  It  is  the  tacit  confession  of  in- 
competence to  deal  with  difficulty.  The  solitude  it  wins  is 
more  often  peopled  with  regrets  than  fruitful  in  new  incen- 
tives to  a  new  strenuousness  of  spirit.  Christ  cannot  take 
such  a  course,  because  it  would  mean  the  disavowal  of  Him- 
self. He  can  pursue  His  way  though  no  disciples  follows 
Him ;  and  His  exaltation  begets  in  Him  a  temper  of  heroic 
courage.  When  the  Pharisees  try  to  play  upon  His  fears, 
they  find  Him  absolutely  fearless.  With  unctuous  insincer- 
ity they  come  to  Him,  professing  a  regard  for  His  safety, 
and  saying,  "  Get  thee  out  and  pass  hence,  for  Herod  will 
kill  thee."  His  reply  breathes  the  spirit  of  indomitable 
defiance.  "Go  ye,  and  tell  that  fox,"  He  says,  "Behold  I 
cast  out  devils,  and  I  do  cures  to-day  and  to-morrow,  and 
the  third  day  I  shall  be  perfected.  Nevertheless  I  must 
walk  to-day  and  to-morrow,  and  the  day  following ;  for  it 
cannot  be  that  a  prophet  perish  out  of  Jerusalem." 

This  exaltation  expresses  itself  at  times  in  language  which 
implies  a  sense  of  destiny.  He  speaks  as  a  fatalist  of  the 
more  devout  kind,  for  whom  all  human  events  are  but  God  at 
work.  He  is  impressed  with  the  conviction  that  He  is  the 
central  figure  of  a  Divine  drama,  full  of  inevitable  sequences. 
He  will  die,  but  not  by  accidental  violence,  for  there  are  no 
accidents  in  the  Divine  order.  His  life  and  death  have  long 
since  been  arranged  to  the  minutest  detail  in  the  council 
chambers  of  the  Almighty.  Event  after  event,  as  it  un- 
folds, with  all  its  sordid  aspect  of  conspiracy  or  its  tragic 
agony  of  rejection  and  repulse,  is  but  the  vehicle  of  destiny. 
Things  are  so  because  they  cannot  be  otherwise.  The  ordi- 
nary man  is  permitted  a  wide  latitude  in  the  ordering  of  his 


THE  FAREWELL  TO  GALILEE       247 

life,  because  his  movements  are  of  no  great  importance  to 
the  world ;  but  not  so  the  extraordinary  man,  who  is  set  for 
the  rise  and  fall  of  the  world  itself.  To  His  unbelieving, 
narrow-minded  brethren  Christ  remarks  with  sarcasm, 
"  Your  time  is  always  ready "  ;  but  of  Himself  He  says, 
"My  hour  is  not  yet  come."  He  is  as  one  who  passes 
through  a  hostile  army,  whose  swords  hang  suspended  over 
Him,  but  cannot  fall,  because  the  hands  that  hold  them  are 
frozen  in  an  iron  trance.  No  man  lays  hands  on  Him,  be- 
cause His  hour  has  not  yet  come.  He  speaks  often  of  a 
high  and  solitary  path  which  He  must  tread  where  none  can 
follow  Him.  His  language  is  grossly  misapprehended.  It 
is  thought  at  one  time  that  He  is  meditating  suicide.  "  Will 
He  kill  Himself  ?  "  is  the  whispered  comment  of  the  Jews. 
The  strange  fortitude  of  the  mystic  and  the  fatalist  may  well 
prove  incomprehensible  to  ordinary  men.  Perhaps  some 
sympathy  is  due  to  those  who  listened  to  these  lofty  say- 
ings. The  ordinary  experience  of  humanity  afforded  no  clue 
to  them.  They  were  an  unintelligible  music  floating  down 
to  them  as  from  the  clouds.  They  were  the  sad  and  thrill- 
ing utterances  of  a  mind  deranged.  Genius  and  heroism 
have  often  seemed  the  voice  of  madness  to  the  feeble  and 
the  commonplace. 

One  fixed  idea  is  constantly  expressed  in  these  moods  ;  it 
is  that  Jerusalem  is  His  appointed  goal.  The  vision  of  a 
culminating  contest  with  the  scribes  and  Pharisees  never 
leaves  Him,  and  that  vision  has  for  background  the  Holy 
City.  Up  to  this  time  the  superb  metropolis  of  His  nation 
has  afforded  Him  no  attractions.  The  splendor  of  the 
Temple  has  repelled  Him,  the  character  of  the  people  has 
disgusted  Him.  Nowhere  has  He  been  received  with  so 
little  sympathy  and  tolerance ;  nowhere  has  such  stolid  in- 
credulity and  brutal  scorn  awaited  Him.     Yet  now,  almost 


248  THE    LIFE    OF   CHRIST 

in  spite  of  Himself,  tlie  bare  thought  of  Jerusalem  fascinates 
and  thrills  Him.  His  disciples,  with  a  true  worldly  wisdom, 
would  fain  remain  in  Galilee,  where  at  least  they  have 
achieved  some  honor  and  acceptance,  and  are  not  made  to 
drink  those  waters  of  contempt  which  Jerusalem  invariably 
offered  to  all  Galileans.  They  would  even  have  preferred 
the  pagan  provinces  to  Jerusalem.  But  their  remonstrances 
were  in  vain.  Jesus  saw  with  terrible  distinctness  all  that 
would  happen  to  Him  at  Jerusalem,  and  yet  He  could  not 
keep  away.  From  these  far  Avails  He  heard  the  challenging 
trumpets  of  His  destiny,  and  it  was  not  in  Him  to  refuse  the 
challenge.  He  is  in  haste  to  be  gone ;  He  is  straitened  in 
spirit  till  this  last  act  of  His  life  is  accomplished.  It  is  at 
this  point  that  Jesus  parts  company  with  the  average  re- 
former of  society.  He  displays  none  of  that  sagacity  which 
teaches  the  reformer  to  reserve  his  energies,  to  be  oppor- 
tunely pliable  to  circumstance,  in  order  that  in  the  end  he 
may  win  his  victory.  He  is  henceforth  the  pure  enthusiast, 
dedicated  to  supreme  sacrifice,  rather  than  the  reformer  who, 
with  a  more  moderate  enthusiasm,  weighs  his  means  and  op- 
portunities. And  out  of  this  intense  emotion  there  is  born  a 
new  feeling  for  Jerusalem  itself,  of  which  the  past  has  given 
no  sign.  He  sighs  for  it  as  the  noble  sigh  for  the  bed  of 
heroic  death.  He  longs  to  cast  Himself  upon  the  stony 
bosom  of  this  mother  who  discards  Him.  His  soul  sud- 
denly breaks  out  in  an  exclamation  of  profound  love  and 
pity,  utterly  incomprehensible  to  the  Galileans,  who  had 
every  cause  to  hate  the  Holy  City.  "  O  Jerusalem,  Jeru- 
salem," He  cries,  "which  killest  the  prophets,  and  stonest 
them  that  are  sent  unto  thee ;  how  often  would  I  have  gath- 
ered thy  children  together,  as  a  hen  doth  gather  her  brood 
under  her  wings,  and  ye  would  not." 

As  if  to  warn  His  Galilean  converts  against  that   kind 


THE  FAREWELL  TO  GALILEE       249 

of  gross  misjudgment  of  heroic  lives  which  counts  all  suffer- 
ing defeat,  Christ  devotes  His  last  discourse  in  Capernaum 
to  the  discussion  of  untempered  judgments.  A  report  has 
reached  Capernaum  of  some  sanguinary  massacre  in  Jeru- 
salem, in  which  certain  Galileans  have  perished  by  the 
swords  of  the  Roman  soldiery,  even  while  in  the  act  of  sacri- 
fice. Are  they  to  be  counted  "  sinners  above  all  the  Gali- 
leans, because  they  have  suffered  such  things  ?  "  Perhaps 
they  were  fanatics  ;  perhaps  simple  uncalculatmg  enthusi- 
asts, who  had  taken  no  pains  to  conceal  their  anger  at  the 
presence  of  the  Eoman  eagles  in  the  Temple  of  David.  They 
would  henceforth  be  accounted  martyrs,  and  possibly  with 
justice.  But  if  they  were  to  be  judged  at  the  tribunal  of  a 
worldly  prudence  they  were  not  martyrs,  but  fools.  If  the 
Pharisees,  who  invariably  associated  every  calamity  with 
secret  wrongdoing,  measured  such  lives,  they  would  declare 
these  men  to  be  sinners  above  all  men,  because  they  had 
suffered  a  doom  that  few  men  met.  Christ  warned  His  Gali- 
lean friends  against  these  superficial  judgments.  The  solu- 
tion of  the  mystery  of  pain  is  not  so  simple.  It  is  nothing 
either  for  or  against  a  man  that  he  endures  great  misfortunes. 
The  heroic  never  reach  then-  fame  except  by  paths  of  blood, 
by  misfortune  and  catastrophe.  It  is  a  strange  theme  for  a 
last  discourse  in  Galilee,  and  yet  it  is  full  of  solemn  signifi- 
cance as  regards  Himself.  The  time  will  come  when  the 
news  will  reach  Capernaum  of  a  far  worse  tragedy  enacted  in 
Jerusalem.  His  friends  will  hear  the  fatal  tale  of  One  whom 
they  regarded  almost  as  a  God  vilely  crucified  as  a  felon. 
Let  them  then  beware  of  untempered  judgments.  Let  them 
make  room  in  their  minds  for  the  thought  of  an  heroic  life, 
which  becomes  heroic  by  its  suffering.  Human  life  is  but  a 
noisome  sty  where  no  perception  of  the  nature  of  the  heroic 
life  exists.     Thus  does  Jesus  warn  them ;    thus  does  He 


250  THE    LIFE    OF   CHRIST 

stand  before  them,  garlanded,  as  it  were,  for  sacrifice  ;  and 
though  they  know  it  not,  His  last  word  is  spoken  and  they 
will  see  His  face  no  more. 

By  what  route  Jesus  left  Galilee  we  have  no  means  of  de- 
termining. It  is  scarcely  probable  that  He  would  pass 
through  Nazareth ;  and  the  likeliest  course  would  be  by 
Endor  and  Nain,  and  so  southward  to  the  district  of  Sama- 
ria. One  discourse,  uttered  either  immediately  before  or 
during  this  journey,  and  one  incident  which  certainly  oc- 
curred on  the  way  to  Jerusalem,  confirm  the  impression  of 
the  sterner  thoughts  which  uoav  filled  His  mind. 

The  discourse  is  the  extremely  enigmatic  one  about  the 
salt  and  the  sacrifice.  "  For  every  one  shall  be  salted  with 
fire,"  says  Jesus,  "  and  every  sacrifice  shall  be  salted  with 
salt."  The  words  manifestly  refer  to  the  injunction  of  the 
Levitical  law  :  "  And  every  oblation  of  the  meat-offering  shalt 
thou  season  with  salt,  neither  shalt  thou  suffer  the  salt  of 
the  covenant  of  thy  God  to  be  lacking  from  thy  meat-offer- 
ing." He  who  offered  a  meat-offering  to  God  without  salt 
offered  a  putrid  sacrifice,  and  hence  this  command.  But 
salt  was  a  precious  and  expensive  thing  to  the  Oriental,  as  it 
still  is,  and  there  was  a  sensible  temptation  to  grudge  the 
salt,  and  thus  to  insult  God  by  a  sacrifice  which  involved  no 
self-denial.  Jesus  points  out  that  piety  without  self-denial 
is  worthless.  To  the  really  religious  man  religion  is  every- 
thing ;  he  will  pluck  out  his  eye,  he  will  cut  off  his  hand,  he 
will  submit  to  any  self-discipline  in  order  to  present  the 
living,  unblemished,  and  perfect  sacrifice  of  himself.  In 
other  words,  sacrifice  is  the  salt  of  life,  the  fire  of  life,  the 
cleansing  and  the  consecrating  element  of  life.  Perhaps 
Jesus  meant  also  to  imply  that  there  is  a  certain  vital  salt  of 
integrity  and  sincerity  that  gives  tone  and  zest  to  character, 
and  that  when  this  is  gone  the  man  has  lost  his  savor,  and 


THE  FAREWELL  TO  GALILEE       251 

there  is  no  health  in  him.  But  enigmatic  as  the  language 
is,  there  can  be  no  mistake  about  its  meaning  in  respect  of 
the  disciples.  They  are  traveling  to  the  hour  of  supreme 
sacrifice,  and  nothing  but  absolute  sincerity  can  sustain  them. 
The  pleasant  pilgrimages  of  a  popular  and  welcomed  min- 
istry are  at  an  end.  Henceforth  they  will  walk  on  roads  of 
fire,  leading  each  in  turn  to  his  distant  scene  of  martyrdom. 
The  utmost  sacrifices  they  have  made  in  following  Christ  are 
but  trivial  compared  with  that  flame  of  sacrifice  which  they 
must  now  enter ;  and  he  who  shrinks  from  the  severity  of 
the  cleansing  agony  is  no  longer  worthy  to  be  called  a  dis- 
ciple. Awful  words  indeed  to  fall  upon  the  startled  ears  of 
these  Galileans ;  yet  it  was  by  these  words  that  the  world 
was  roused  from  slumber.  Strange  as  it  may  seem,  yet  it  is 
true  that  the  religion  which  makes  things  light  for  man  is  a 
religion  instinctively  rejected.  The  religion  that  scourges 
man  most  heavily  is  the  one  religion  that  attracts  him. 

The  incident  which  occurred  in  this  journey  is  the  familiar 
one  of  the  rich  young  ruler  who  desired  eternal  life.  Here 
at  last  was  what  appeared  an  almost  visible  perfection  of  life 
and  character.  The  youth  claims  that  he  had  kept  all  the 
commandments  from  his  youth,  and  Christ  does  not  contest 
the  claim.  He  has  lived  a  life  of  separated  and  fastidious 
virtue.  He  is  manifestly  high-minded,  sincere,  and  capable 
of  great  enthusiasms.  There  is  a  noble  restlessness  and  ar- 
dor in  his  nature  which  cannot  be  satisfied  with  formal  vir- 
tues. He  knows  "  the  large  and  liberal  discontent "  of  the 
true  idealist  who  sighs  for  the  impossible.  He  desires  noth- 
ing less  than  perfection.  Here  is  a  nature  that  seems  pre- 
destined to  apostleship.  Jesus  loves  him  at  sight ;  never 
had  one  approached  Him  so  akin  in  spirit.  Yet  Christ  per- 
ceives instinctively  that  this  ardent  nature  has  not  been 
salted  with  the  salt  of  sacrifice.     He  has  missed  the  supreme 


252  THE    LIFE    OF   CHRIST 

joy  of  renunciation.  Jesus,  answering  his  inmost  thought, 
says,  "  You  desire  perfection  :  behold  the  price  of  perfection 
is  renunciation.  Sell  all  that  thou  hast,  and  give  it  to  the 
poor,  and  perfection  shall  be  yours.  Cut  the  last  mooring 
that  binds  you  to  the  world  and  all  its  pleasant  things,  and 
in  that  instant  the  soul  shall  find  its  wings  and  soar  into  the 
empyrean  of  life."  But  the  price  is  too  great.  The  words 
of  Jesus  seem  extravagant  and  harsh.  He  was  "  sad  at  that 
saying,  and  went  away  grieved,  for  he  had  great  posses- 
sions." Jesus  loved  him,  and  yet  he  went  away.  In  that 
very  fact  his  true  character  was  exposed.  He  was  after  all 
but  a  sentimentalist ;  the  true  heroic  fibre  was  not  in  him. 

From  this  hour  we  may  trace  in  Jesus  the  growth  of  a 
sterner  temper.  His  denunciations  of  the  rich  become  more 
vehement.  The  tests  by  which  He  tries  men  become  more 
uncompromising.  He  has  entered  on  that  last  heroic  stage 
of  enthusiasm,  reached  by  few,  when  the  world  has  practic- 
ally ceased  to  exist.  "  I  am  from  above,  ye  are  from  be- 
neath ;  ye  are  of  the  world,  I  am  not  of  this  world,"  is  the 
reproach  He  hurls  against  His  enemies.  The  doubts  and 
dejections  known  to  all  reformers  are  incapable  of  assailing 
this  lofty  temper.  "  The  slings  and  arrows  of  outrageous  for- 
tune "  are  scarcely  felt.  The  enthusiast  moves  through  the 
brutal  strifes  of  life  like  those  legendary  knights  whose 
frames  were  wrought  of  such  ethereal  stuff  that  swords 
pierced  them  in  vain,  for  the  wounds  closed  instantly,  im- 
mortally resisting  mortal  weapons.  If  the  enthusiast  knows 
many  pains,  he  also  carries  the  unfailing  antidote  of  pain  in 
his  own  veins.  And  so  we  see  Jesus  passing  to  His  final 
battlefield,  scarcely  as  man,  for  He  has  exceeded  the  limits  of 
the  human  ;  already  immortal,  for  He  is  superior  to  death  ;  and 
the  Gospel  of  Beatitude  now  gives  place  to  the  final  and  alarm- 
ing Gospel  of  Sacrifice,  and  victory  through  sacrifice  alone. 


CHAPTEE   XIX 

THE    UNCHASTE 

We  have  already  seen  that,  throughout  the  life  of  Jesus 
nothing  is  more  evident  than  the  sympathy  which  He  felt 
for  persons  who  cowered  under  the  stigma  of  social  dishonor, 
and  in  the  closing  period  of  His  ministry  this  sympathy  be- 
comes increasingly  intense.  But  it  was  more  than  sym- 
pathy, as  a  vague  emotion  of  pity ;  it  was  sympathy  with  a 
moral  basis.  If  Jesus  showed  a  special  and  consistent  ten- 
derness toward  persons  whose  faults  of  life  were  manifest,  it 
was  because  He  drew  a  sharp  distinction  between  sins  of 
frailty  and  sins  of  temper.  Moreover,  the  distinction  which  He 
drew  was  always  to  the  disadvantage  of  the  latter.  The  Phar- 
isees were  certainly  more  odious  to  Him  than  the  publicans  and 
harlots.  His  dislike  of  the  elder  brother  is  as  plain  as  His 
lenience  of  feeling  toward  the  prodigal.  His  most  terrible 
denunciations  were  addressed  not  to  bad  people  of  notorious 
laxity  of  life,  but  to  conventionally  good  people  whose  mor- 
ality was  irreproachable.  The  commonplace  distinctions  be- 
tween virtue  and  vice  did  not  exist  for  Him  ;  or,  if  they  did, 
they  were  so  modified  by  His  acute  perception  of  the  vices 
of  the  virtuous  and  the  corresponding  virtues  of  the  vicious, 
that  they  were  no  longer  reconizable. 

Hardly  anything  in  Christ's  public  ministry  wrought  Him 
such  harm  as  this  peculiar  and  unpalatable  view  of  sin. 
Men  saw  Him  constantly  surrounded  by  persons  of  evil  repu- 
tation, and  they  drew  their  own  conclusions.  They  expected, 
at  least,  from  a  teacher  of  religion  an  active  support  of  conven- 

253 


254  THE   LIFE   OF   CHRIST 

tional  morality  ;  Christ  often  spoke  as  the  enemy  of  that  moral- 
ity. The  distinction  between  venial  and  mortal  sin  is  a  con- 
venient invention,  with  a  good  deal  of  sound  reason  to  sup- 
port it.  Average  society  is  certainly  not  prepared  to  treat 
the  covetous  or  ill-tempered  man  on  the  same  terms  as  the 
thief  or  the  murderer,  although  it  is  perfectly  plain  that 
without  covetousness  the  thief  would  not  exist,  without  ex- 
plosions of  angry  and  revengeful  feeling  crimes  of  violence 
would  not  occur.  Nor  would  society  account  it  just  to  treat 
an  imagined  act  of  impurity  as  a  real  one.  It  is  one  thing 
to  defile  the  theatre  of  the  mind  with  an  obscene  drama  ; 
quite  another  to  guide  the  life  upon  vicious  principles.  So, 
again,  a  great  deal  of  callous  cruelty  and  greed  may  co-exist 
with  an  outwardly  correct  moral  life ;  but  who  would  con- 
tend that  a  man  of  harsh  or  avaricious  temper  deserved  that 
kind  of  reprehension  which  society  visits  upon  the  person  of 
profligate  behavior?  But  that  was  precisely  the  contention 
of  Christ.  Sins  of  temper  appeared  to  Him  far  more  disas- 
trous than  sins  of  frailty.  In  His  alarming  system  of  spir- 
itual pathology,  the  first  resembled  a  paralysis  of  vital  or- 
gans, the  second  an  attack  of  fever.  Any  man  may  contract 
a  fever,  and  after  dreadful  wanderings  in  the  realms  of  delir- 
ious imagination  may  emerge  again  into  the  light  of  sanity. 
He  may  lie  blind  and  helpless  at  the  mercy  of  the  flame  that 
consumes  him,  but  he  may  still  retain  his  goodness  of  heart, 
his  sense  of  right,  and  even  his  real  passion  for  integrity, 
But  in  the  growth  of  evil  tempers  there  is  no  crisis  and  no 
cure.  They  involve  not  a  temporary  obscuration  of  moral 
faculties,  but  their  destruction.  They  are  like  paralysis,  a 
decay  of  vital  organs.  Frailty  of  the  flesh  is  curable ;  cor- 
ruption of  the  spirit  incurable.  Hence  the  sin  of  the  Phari- 
see appeared  to  Christ  far  more  odious  and  hopeless  than 
the  sin  of  the  harlot;    and  if  it  were  possible  for  society 


THE    UNCHASTE  255 

to  weigh  grain  by  grain  the  evil  of  human  lives  in  the  scales 
of  an  exact  justice,  Christ's  diagnosis  would  be  found 
correct. 

The  historian  of  Jesus  may,  however,  justly  tremble  as  he 
proceeds  to  examine  these  principles,  for  they  are  revolution- 
ary in  the  highest  degree.  We  may  have  the  clearest  proof 
that  a  man  of  thoroughly  inhumane  temper,  in  the  course  of 
a  long  life  of  unscrupulous  avarice,  inflicts  far  greater  evils 
on  society  than  he  could  have  done  by  any  personal  breach 
of  chastity.  Nevertheless  some  obstinate  and  indignant  scra- 
pie forbids  the  thought  that  avarice  is  a  sin  of  equal  turpi- 
tude with  unchastity.  We  may  be  perfectly  aware  that  a 
man  of  austere  personal  virtue  may  so  conduct  his  business 
that  in  the  long  run  it  becomes  a  far  direr  engine  for  the 
overthrow  of  innocence  than  if  he  had  succumbed  to  the  frail- 
ties of  the  flesh ;  but  we  shrink  from  expressing  such  con- 
clusions, for  the  honorable  reason  that  we  fear  lest  others 
should  suppose  that  we  treat  lightly  forms  of  sin  which  in- 
volve much  open  shame  and  ruin.  We  are  afraid,  and  justly 
afraid,  lest  we  reduce  sins  of  personal  impurity  to  the  level 
of  excusable  weaknesses.  But  Christ  would  not  have  given 
a  new  morality  to  the  world  had  He  acted  on  these  fears.  It 
was  surely  part  of  the  Cross  which  He  bore  for  men  that  He 
was  constrained  to  handle  and  examine  things  unspeakably 
repugnant  to  Him,  in  the  same  spirit  that  the  great  physician 
dissects  the  roots  of  a  horrible  disease  that  he  may  find  its 
remedy.  The  first  step  in  all  true  science  is  analysis. 
Christ  was  bound  to  analyze  the  human  heart  before  He 
could  unfold  His  scheme  of  redemptive  pathology.  With  an 
infinite  and  delicate  science,  possibly  only  to  One  who  was 
Himself  sinless,  He  applied  the  probe  to  the  deepest  secrets 
of  the  human  heart.  He  embodied  His  discoveries  in  the 
great  principle,  that "  out  of  the  heart  proceedeth  evil  thoughts. 


256  THE    LIFE    OF   CHRIST 

murders,  adulteries,  fornications,  thefts,  false  witness,  blas- 
phemies ;  these  are  the  things  which  defile  a  man."  All  sin 
is  thus  primarily  sin  of  the  will.  Whether  or  no  it  becomes 
incarnated  in  the  actions  is  a  matter  of  secondary  importance. 
He  who  looks  upon  a  woman  with  impure  eyes  has  already 
sinned  with  her  in  his  heart.  Outward  rectitude  of  life  af- 
fords us  no  guarantee  of  inward  purity.  Rectitude  of  life 
and  inward  baseness  may  co-exist  as  in  the  Pharisee ;  or  on 
the  other  hand,  a  frail  virtue  does  not  imply  a  total  inca- 
pacity for  good.  Motive  must  be  measured  as  well  as  deed. 
The  direction  of  the  will  is  of  even  greater  importance  than 
the  nature  of  the  conduct ;  for  the  conduct  may  be  but  an 
aberration  of  the  will.  A  profound  and  difficult  science  in- 
deed to  explain  to  sinful  men,  and  no  wonder  that  it  aroused 
alarm ;  yet  without  it,  the  incomparable  purity  and  loftiness 
of  Christ's  own  mind  had  not  been  comprehended. 

But  we  are  not  left  to  the  subtleties  of  spiritual  science  to 
learn  these  truths ;  two  great  stories  give  them  reality  and 
moral  force.  One  of  these  dramas  occurs  in  the  house  of 
Simon  the  Pharisee ;  the  other  in  the  courts  of  the  Temple 
itself. 

The  story  of  "  the  woman  who  was  a  sinner  "  presents  cer- 
tain internal  difficulties  which  are  not  easy  of  solution.  It 
is  related  thrice,  and  the  scene  appears  to  have  been  Beth- 
any. The  probability  is  that  there  were  two  anointings  of 
Christ,  one  by  this  woman  in  the  house  of  Simon  the  leper, 
and' another  by  Mary  in  the  house  of  Lazarus,  and  these  sep- 
arate stories  are  confused  in  the  Gospel  narratives.  St.  Luke, 
in  his  effort  to  reduce  the  memorabilia  of  Jesus  to  clearness 
and  order,  has  perhaps  carried  the  process  of  editing  too  far, 
and  has  combined  in  one  narrative  features  common  to  each 
incident.  "We  have  seen  already  that  he  has  combined  sep- 
arate parables  that  were  similar  in  theme  and  based  on  a 


THE    UNCHASTE  257 

common  ethical  ideal.  The  process  as  applied  to  this  story 
has  disadvantages,  but  St.  Luke  certainly  clears  up  some 
points  left  in  doubt  by  the  other  narratives.  He  indicates 
unmistakably  that  Simon  was  no  friend  to  Christ,  and  it  is 
he  who  tells  us  that  this  woman  was  a  woman  of  light  repu- 
tation. One  singular  omission — dictated  possibly  by  scru- 
ples of  delicacy — we  find  in  each  version ;  we  do  not  know 
the  woman's  name.  The  tradition  which  has  called  her  Mary 
may,  however,  be  correct,  for  this  was  the  commonest  of  Jew- 
ish names.  But  it  is  quite  certain  that  tradition  is  misin- 
formed in  naming  her  Mary  Magdalene,  as  we  have  already 
seen.  On  the  other  hand,  if  the  two  anointings  took  place 
in  Bethany,  nothing  would  be  easier  than  to  confuse  them, 
and  this  may  account  for  the  name  of  Mary  being  given  to 
this  unknown  woman. 

"The  scene,  as  it  is  painted  by  St.  Luke,  is  extraordinarily 
vivid.  The  banquet  at  which  Jesus  is  present  is  a  formal 
and  perhaps  splendid  function,  arranged  in  honor  of  One 
who  has  become  famous  and  is  the  idol  of  the  hour.  Simon 
belongs  to  that  class  of  men  who  are  always  ready  to  pay 
court  to  any  kind  of  success,  without  in  the  least  sympathiz- 
ing with  it,  or  even  comprehending  it.  At  the  tables  of  such 
men  all  sorts  of  popular  heroes  are  welcomed — the  success- 
ful statesman,  the  triumphant  soldier,  the  latest  poet,  the 
newest  religious  teacher.  They  are  valued  for  one  thing  only 
— that  they  have  been  able  to  escape  the  trammels  of  medi- 
ocrity. They  pass  through  the  whispering  rooms,  honored 
in  the  degree  of  their  fame  or  notoriety ;  flattered  to-day  and 
forgotten  to-morrow ;  exhibited  to  gratify  the  vanity  of  their 
entertainer,  but  never  really  treated  as  guests ;  and  sharply 
criticized  even  by  those  who  load  them  with  noisy  adulation. 
Simon  was  such  a  social  entertainer,  but  he  was  not  a  host. 
He  felt  no  real  respect  or  reverence  for  Christ.  He  was  too 
17 


258  THE    LIFE    OF   CHRIST 

clumsy  or  too  careless  even  to  conceal  his  real  contempt  for 
Christ  under  the  forms  of  ordinary  courtesy.  And  there  are 
also  signs  that  the  whole  occasion  was  part  of  a  stratagem  to 
entrap  Christ,  to  place  Him  in  a  false  position,  and  to  com- 
promise both  His  reputation  and  His  influence. 

The  means  by  which  this  piece  of  astute  malignity  was  to 
be  achieved  was  a  woman.  She  could  scarcely  have  been 
present  but  at  the  invitation  of  Simon  himself.  She  came 
for  a  specific  purpose :  it  was  her  trade  to  attend  such  ban- 
quets, bringing  with  her  fragrant  oils  and  essences  to  auoint 
the  hair  and  brow  of  the  guests.  At  formal  banquets  of  this 
kind  it  was  the  custom  of  the  Romans  to  introduce  then  fair- 
est slaves,  and  Simon,  in  his  pride  of  wealth,  was  merely  imi- 
tating the  manners  of  the  conquerors  of  his  country.  For 
the  woman  herself  he  felt  nothing  but  contempt.  She  was  a 
woman  "  who  was  a  sinner,"  a  beautiful  daughter  of  shame ; 
but  that  was  her  own  affair.  It  was  not  his  duty  to  attempt 
her  reclamation,  still  less  to  shield  his  guest  from  what  he 
himself  would  have  considered  the  degradation  of  her  touch. 
It  was  enough  for  him  that  her  beauty  was  conspicuous,  and 
that  it  added  some  charm  and  distinction  to  his  banquet; 
who  and  what  she  was  in  her  private  life  was  nothing  to 
him.  But,  he  cynically  reflected,  by  her  means  he  could  con- 
trive a  situation  deeply  compromising  to  his  guest.  It  would 
be  her  duty  to  anoint  the  head  of  Jesus ;  every  one  would 
see  her  play  her  part;  if  Jesus  were  indeed  a  prophet 
He  would  know  what  manner  of  woman  it  was  that  touched 
Him,  and  would  resent  lier  touch ;  if  not,  Simon's  banquet 
would  long  be  remembered  for  its  complete  exposure  of  the 
prophetic  claims  of  Christ.  So  far  it  is  easy  to  follow  the 
thoughts  of  Simon — the  thoughts  of  a  hard,  proud,  cynical 
man  of  the  world ;  of  a  Pharisee  who  can  stoop  to  any  mean- 
ness to  humiliate  an  antagonist  whoni  he  both  hated  and  de- 


THE    UNCHASTE  259 

spised ;  of  a  born  plotter  accustomed  to  the  devious  ways  of 
intrigue,  and  incapable  of  any  generosity  of  feeling  when 
once  his  rancor  is  aroused. 

But  all  these  crafty  calculations  are  destined  to  be  over- 
thrown by  something  which  lies  quite  outside  the  scope  of 
Simon's  gross  imagination.  This  woman,'  full  of  gaiety,  and 
loveliness,  and  youth,  draws  near  the  long  divan  on  which 
the  guests  recline,  to  fulfil  the  duties  of  her  calling.  She  is 
all  smiles  ;  she  knows  her  beauty,  she  is  conscious  of  the  ad- 
miration it  attracts,  she  is  glad  to  find  herself  conspicuous, 
and  there  is  no  thought  of  shame  or  sadness  in  her  mind. 
She  approaches  Christ  with  careless  grace,  and  behold  she 
stands  suddenly  arrested  as  by  some  unknown  force,  silent 
as  a  statue,  with  all  her  smiles  frozen  on  her  mouth.  Who 
could  suppose  that  this  woman,  whose  sad  experience  of  life 
went  far  beyond  her  years,  would  be  thus  affected,  abashed, 
and  overwhelmed  before  Simon's  humble  Guest?  Who 
could  suppose  that  she,  famous  for  her  beauty,  should  sud- 
denly dissolve  in  love  and  tears  before  this  Nazarene,  in 
whom  there  is  no  beauty  that  He  should  be  desired  ?  Who 
could  imagine  that,  without  a  single  word  said  by  Christ,  her 
hands  should  begin  to  tremble  at  their  task,  and  that  she 
should  shudder  with  a  sense  of  guilt  ?  Yet  so  it  was.  His 
clear,  calm,  loving  eyes  rest  upon  her  in  surprise,  in  pity,  in 
comprehension  of  her  character  and  mode  of  life.  She  is 
humiliated  and  rebuked,  yet  so  tenderly  that  the  torture  of 
her  pain  is  almost  blissful.  She  is  abashed,  she  is  thrown 
into  confusion,  and  the  great  deeps  of  her  heart  are  breaking 
up.  What  does  it  all  mean,  this  distress,  this  bitter  shame, 
this  soft  flame  of  love  which  passes  through  her,  dissolving 
and  transforming  all  it  touches?  And  in  an  instant  she 
knows,  and  falls  as  one  stricken  with  a  mortal  wound  at  the 
feet  of  Jesus.     She  is  a  sinner,  and  this  Man  is  One  who  has 


260  THE    LIFE    OF   CHRIST 

never  known  the  stain  of  sin.  Simon  and  his  guests,  the 
feast,  the  occasion,  the  attention  she  attracts — all  are  for- 
gotten, and  she  would  fain  hide  herself  from  the  mute  inter- 
rogation of  that  gentle  and  majestic  face.  She  is  washing 
the  feet  of  Christ  with  tears,  and  wiping  them  with  the  hairs 
of  her  head.  The  Eternal  Child,  who  sleeps  in  every 
woman's  heart,  is  alive  once  more,  and  she  feels  the  child's 
exquisite  humility,  and  passionate  desire  of  love  and  pardon. 
She  makes  no  confession  of  her  sin,  but  her  tears  are  her 
confession;  and  while  she  sobs  in  pure  abandonment  of 
grief,  she 

"  in  the  darkness  o'er  her  fallen  head, 
Perceived  the  waving  of  His  hands  that  blest." 

And  then  amid  the  silence  of  the  room  the  voice  of  Jesus 
speaks  :  "  Simon,  I  have  somewhat  to  say  to  thee."  And 
Simon,  not  knowing  what  to  think,  but  still  full  of  pride  and 
scorn,  replies,  "Master,  say  on." 

The  discoiirse  which  follows  is  an  exposition  of  that 
alarming  spiritual  pathology  which  has  been  already  out- 
lined. Christ  points  out  that  there  are  sins  of  love,  and  sins 
of  lovelessness ;  Mary  illustrates  the  one,  and  Simon  the 
other.  Mary  was  a  sinner ;  but  if  we  recall  again  the  signifi- 
cant analogy  of  the  lovely  female  slave  in  a  great  Eoman 
household,  we  can  readily  imagine  that  Mary  was  far  from 
being  brutalized  by  a  coarse  excess  of  vice.  Perhaps  no  one 
had  taught  her  better ;  none  had  pointed  her  to  a  loftier  way 
of  life ;  she  had  done  in  thoughtless  love  of  admiration  what 
a  thousand  others  did,  and  on  all  sides  she  saw  a  state  of 
things  which  not  only  did  not  rebuke  her  conduct,  but  en- 
couraged it.  And,  evil  as  her  mode  of  life  was,  yet  it  had 
not  killed  the  possibilities  of  tender  and  affectionate  feeling. 
People  do  not  alter  their  entire  natures  in  a  moment,  and  the 


THE    UNCHASTE  261 

profound  sentiment  of  love  that  fills  the  heart  of  Mary  in 
the  presence  of  Christ  indicates  that  the  natural  capacity  of 
love  was  strong  in  her.  Let  us  say  the  worst  we  can  of  such 
a  life  as  hers,  yet  we  must  admit  that  she  had  not  been  male- 
volent, nor  cruel,  nor  harshly  selfish  in  her  sins.  But  Simon, 
proud  of  a  superior  decorum,  had  never  been  anything  but 
cruel  and  loveless  in  his  temper.  He  had  employed  this 
woman,  simply  as  a  useful  inferior  creature,  to  fix  an  insult 
on  his  guest.  He  had  spoken  no  word  of  kind  and  grave  re- 
buke to  her,  nor  had  thought  it  his  duty,  pious  as  he  claimed 
to  be,  to  seek  to  save  this  lost  sheep  of  the  house  of  Israel. 
His  harshness  of  temper  had  betrayed  itself  in  his  treatment 
of  his  guest.  His  mind  was  so  filled  with  malice,  so  fixed 
upon  the  diabolic  climax  of  his  plot,  which  was  the  public 
anointing  of  Jesus  by  a  woman  of  notorious  ill-fame,  that  he 
had  violated  the  elementary  rites  of  courtesy  and  hospitality 
themselves.  There  was  no  water  for  the  feet ;  no  kiss  of 
welcome.  Jesus  is  made  to  understand  that  though  He  may 
be  tolerated  as  the  idol  of  the  hour,  He  must  not  presume 
upon  the  friendship  of  His  host.  But  Mary,  coming  as  a 
hireling  to  the  feast,  had  shown  a  far  more  magnanimous 
heart  than  the  giver  of  the  feast.  Soiled  and  foolish  as  she 
may  have  been,  yet  the  reverence  for  goodness  has  not  died 
in  her,  and  the  freshness  and  poignancy  of  her  emotions  are 
not  dulled.  If  we  may  picture  Jesus  coming  wayworn  and 
dusty  to  her  doors,  to  eat  with  her,  as  He  had  often  ate  with 
publicans  and  sinners,  we  may  be  sure  that  His  welcome 
would  have  been  sincere  and  genuine.  In  the  house  of  the 
woman  who  was  a  sinner  there  would  have  been  water  for 
His  feet,  and  He  would  have  met  with  those  manifold  and 
delicate  attentions  by  means  of  which  Mary  would  have 
shown  that  sinner  as  she  was,  yet  she  felt  the  honor  of  His 
presence.      It   had   often  been   so :    sinners   received   Him 


262  THE    LIFE    OF   CHRIST 

gladly,  while  the  reputedly  religious  showed  Him  at  best  but 
a  cold  and  grudging  hospitality.  Therefore  it  is  upon  the 
temper  of  Simon  and  men  like  him  that  Jesus  comments.  It 
shows  a  bad  heart,  as  Mary's  conduct  shows  a  good  heart. 
There  is  an  atoning  power  in  love  which  covers  many  faults, 
but  the  worst  of  all  faults  is  lovelessness.  Lovelessness  is 
the  ruin  of  the  world.  It  is  by  men  like  Simon  that  the 
worst  wrongs  are  inflicted  on  society.  In  depth  and  obdur- 
acy his  sin  is  far  worse  than  the  worst  of  Mary's,  and  he 
had  greater  need  to  wash  the  feet  of  Jesus  with  tears  than  she. 

Some  idyllic  grace  lingers  in  the  story  of  Mary ;  the  per- 
fume of  her  ointment  has  indeed  filled  the  world.  But  in 
the  second  story  which  illustrates  Christ's  treatment  of  the 
unchaste,  evil  is  seen  in  its  most  repulsive  aspect.  A  woman 
is  brought  to  Him,  against  whom  the  proof  of  adultery  is  ab- 
solute. Against  this  sin  society  in  all  ages  has  indignantly 
arrayed  itself,  because  it  is  a  sin  which  loosens  the  very 
foundations  of  the  social  order.  The  law  of  Moses  gave  its 
verdict  against  it  with  relentless  emphasis  :  "  She  shall  be 
stoned  to  death."  If  there  was  any  question  on  which  Christ 
might  have  been  expected  to  side  with  the  Pharisees,  this 
was  the  one.  There  seemed  to  be  no  possibility  of  escape. 
How  could  a  great  religious  teacher  avoid  condemning  an 
offence  that  is  so  odious  in  itself  and  so  socially  disastrous? 
For  every  conceivable  reason,  especially  those  reasons  con- 
nected with  public  morality,  with  His  own  reputation,  and 
with  His  religious  mission,  it  seemed  absolutely  necessary 
that  He  should  condemn  this  woman.  Yet  Christ  will  not 
do  so. 

One  reason  for  this  reluctance  is  plain  in  the  nature  of  the 
narrative.  The  whole  scene  was  pre-arranged ;  it  was  one 
of  the  many  spiteful  plots  of  the  Pharisees  to  put  Him  in 
the  wrong  and   compromise  Him.     They  begin  by  stating 


THE    UNCHASTE  263 

what  the  law  of  Moses  is,  and  then  ask,  "  But  what  sayest 
thou  ? "  assuming  that  Christ  will  contradict  Moses,  and 
thereby  give  them  a  pretext  for  bringing  Him  before  the  San- 
hedrim. So  much  is  incontestable,  and  Christ  would  have 
been  justified  in  answering,  "  Every  public  man  has  the  right 
to  defend  himself  against  a  base  and  malicious  plot.  You 
claim  to  be  the  followers  of  Moses ;  go  then  to  Moses,  but 
do  not  make  Moses  a  partner  in  a  plot  which  is  meant  to 
gratify  your  revenge  against  Me.  Who  made  me  a  judge  or 
a  divider  over  you  ?  "  Or  He  might  have  taken  yet  higher 
ground,  and  have  exposed  the  whole  incident  as  a  kind  of 
wicked  farce.  They,  the  leering  eager  knaves,  had  no  real 
abhorrence  for  this  woman's  sin.  She  and  her  sin  were 
nothing  more  than  pawns  in  the  game  of  partisan  hatred  in 
which  they  were  engaged.  Had  they  been  good  and  pious 
men,  genuinely  shocked  and  pained  by  the  iniquity  which 
they  had  witnessed,  Christ  might  have  spoken  with  them ; 
but  had  they  been  such  men  they  would  never  have  dragged 
this  poor  humbled  creature  into  His  presence  at  all.  Or, 
again,  Christ  might  have  claimed  that  a  great  teacher  has  a 
right  to  his  silences.  It  is  not  every  question  than  can  be 
answered  wisely,  and  there  are  times  when  silence  is  expedi- 
ent. But  the  fact  remains  that  the  case  cannot  go  by  de- 
fault. The  thing  is  done ;  Christ  is  face  to  face  with  this 
wretched  woman ;  and  as  He  stands  there  in  the  early  sun- 
light which  floods  the  Temple  court,  this  spectral  evil,  this 
horror  of  the  world's  hungry  and  unsatisfied  carnality  con- 
fronts Him.  Like  the  toad  within  the  heart  of  stone,  as  one 
of  our  great  poets  tells  us,  lust  sits  in  the  very  centre  and  in- 
most knot  of  being, 

"Aye,  and  shall  not  be  driven  out, 
Till  that  which  shuts  him  around  about 
Break  at  the  very  Master's  stroke." 


264  THE    LIFE    OF   CHRIST 

But  Christ  is  the  very  Master,  and  cannot  refuse  the  task. 
And  so  at  last  Christ  both  speaks  and  acts.  He  stoops  and 
writes  upon  the  ground,  ashamed  of  the  shamelessness  both 
of  the  accusers  and  the  accused.  And  then  He  speaks,  but 
in  language  so  strange  and  searching,  so  revolutionary  too, 
that  after  many  centuries  the  world  has  failed  to  comprehend 
it.     "  He  that  is  without  sin  among  you,  let  him  cast  the  first 

stone I  condemn  thee  not.     Go,  and  sin  no 

more." 

The  moral  antithesis  is  the  same  as  in  the  previous  story. 
Great  as  is  the  sin  of  this  woman,  yet  is  it  greater  than  the 
bitter  malignancy  of  feeling  in  the  hearts  of  these  men  who 
are  her  accusers  ?  But  Christ  carries  His  spiritual  pathol- 
ogy a  stage  further  still.  He  lays  down  a  new  law,  that  only 
the  sinless  have  the  right  to  punish  sin.  This  is  a  revolu- 
tionary principle  indeed.  The  philosopher  will  at  once  re- 
tort, and  not  only  the  philosopher,  but  the  man  of  average 
common  sense,  "  But  we  must  take  society  as  we  find  it,  and 
if  you  wait  till  you  can  find  a  man  without  sin  to  be  the  ex- 
ecutioner of  sin,  justice  would  never  get  done  at  all."  Jus- 
tice— but  is  it  justice  or  injustice  when  the  guilty  punish  the 
guilty  ?  And  as  for  codes  of  law,  is  it  not  true  that  they  are 
framed  in  falsity,  since  they  display  little  sense  of  what  is 
truly  sinful,  and  consequently  strike  hardest  at  those  who 
least  deserve  punishment,  and  afford  a  manifold  escape  for 
those  who  most  deserve  it?  Ideal  justice  can  only  be  ad- 
ministered by  those  who  are  themselves  just ;  purity  alone 
is  competent  to  judge  impurity ;  but  since  in  the  general  cor- 
ruption of  society  the  absolutely  just,  the  immaculately  pure, 
are  hard  to  find,  such  acts  of  punishment  lie  beyond  the 
competence  of  men. 

Does  Christ  mean  us  to  imply,  then,  that  upon  the  whole 
the  judicial  system  of  society  is  a  failure,  because  society 


THE    UNCHASTE  265 

could  exist  better  without  judicial  punishment  than  with  it  ? 
This  certainly  appears  to  be  Christ's  meaning.  He  had  al- 
ready taught  the  same  doctrine  in  terms  of  startling  em- 
phasis, when  He  counselled  His  disciples  not  to  take  advan- 
tage of  the  law  even  in  a  just  cause.  Before  we'condemn 
such  counsel  as  anarchic  it  is  at  least  worth  inquiring 
whether  punishment  really  achieves  the  one  end  that  can 
justify  it,  which  is  the  reclamation  of  the  criminal.  Clearly 
we  do  not  make  a  man  less  a  thief  by  sending  him  to  gaol, 
or  our  enemy  less  our  enemy  by  summoning  him  before  the 
magistrates.  On  the  contrary,  prison  usually  makes  the 
thief  more  of  a  thief,  and  the  punishmed  enemy  is  yet  more 
our  enemy.  If  Christ,  therefore,  counsels  forgiveness  in- 
stead of  punishment,  it  is  because  forgiveness  is  more  likely 
to  succeed  as  a  remedy  for  evil  than  force.  Punishment, 
even  though  it  be  never  so  just,  and  never  so  fairly  admin- 
istered, has  never  once  in  the  history  of  the  world  proved  a 
cure  for  sin ;  on  the  contrary,  the  ages  marked  by  the  utmost 
severity  of  their  penal  codes  have  always  been  the  ages  when 
crime  was  most  abundant.  Through  many  generations  Is- 
rael stoned  the  adulteress,  in  obedience  to  the  law  of  Moses ; 
but  they  could  not  stone  adultery  out  of  the  human  heart. 
Why  not  give  love  a  chance,  then  ?  Why  not  try  to  soften 
the  heart  of  the  sinner  by  pity  rather  than  harden  it  by  ret- 
ribution ?  Why  not  say  to  this  poor  woman :  "  It  was  all 
so  sad,  and  mad,  and  bad,  and  you  know  it  as  no  other  can. 
Your  heart  burns  with  the  sense  of  infinite  degradation. 
You  are  so  humbled  that  it  would  not  be  difficult  to  die. 
But  instead  of  accepting  death,  which  indeed  cuts  the  knot 
in  all  this  coil  of  shame,  go  home  and  do  this  yet  more  dif- 
ficult thing  :  live,  repent,  and  sin  no  more."  That  is  Christ's 
remedy,  and  it  is  a  real  remedy.  Her  accusers  may  stone 
her,  and  leave  the  dishonored  body  huddled  in  its  blood  be- 


266  THE    LIFE    OF   CHRIST 

neatli  the  pitiless  sunlight,  hut  they  will  uot  have  stoned  the 
adultery  out  of  her  protesting  heart.  Forgive  her,  and  a 
new  woman  is  created  in  her,  who  goes  away  to  sin  no  more. 
To  treat  her  thus  is  to  redeem  her ;  to  treat  her  in  any  other 
way,  to  deepen  her  degradation  and  confirm  her  ruin. 

And  in  yet  one  other  thing  Christ  revolutionizes  our  no- 
tions of  justice.  He  is  quick  to  recognize  that  this  woman, 
odious  as  she  may  seem,  is  nevertheless  a  victim.  The  sin 
she  did  was  only  hers  in  part,  but  the  punishment  is  to  be 
hers  alone.  How  significant  of  that  false  morality  which 
rules  the  world  is  the  action  of  these  men,  who  are  so  eager 
to  stone  a  guilty  woman,  but  have  no  word  to  say  about  the 
guilty  man !  Him  they  exculpate,  her  they  treat  as  beyond 
all  pardon ;  and  such  is  still  the  practice  of  society.  But 
Christ,  by  His  conduct,  reverses  this  partial  verdict,  shifts 
the  centre  of  gravity,  puts  the  crown  of  infamy  on  the  right 
brows,  and  stands  beside  this  crushed  and  cowering  crea- 
ture as  the  implacable  avenger  of  the  wrongs  of  women.  He 
says  in  effect,  "  You  have  brought  me  a  fallen  woman ;  where 
is  the  fallen  man  ?  You  have  brought  me  a  wronged  woman  ; 
where  is  he  who  did  the  wrong  ?  Are  ye  indeed  unfallen  ? 
With  God  there  is  no  respect  of  persons,  still  less  of  sexes. 
Let  him  that  is  without  sin  of  thought  or  act  cast  the  first 
stone."  The  effect  of  that  speech  was  terrible  and  immedi- 
ate. Hardened  as  these  men  were,  yet  they  could  not  but 
admit  what  all  rational  men  admit  if  they  will  reflect — that 
the  only  equitable  basis  of  society  is  that  which  puts  men 
and  women  on  precisely  the  same  moral  terms.  Christ  in- 
vited them  to  stand  beside  this  woman,  if  they  dared ;  to  lift 
up  their  eyes  to  meet  His  searching  glance,  if  they  could ; 
and  to  answer  whether  in  their  hearts  they  could  say  that 
justice  would  be  done  in  the  death  of  this  woman  while  the 
\yorse  criminal  went  unscathed.     And  they  could  not  reply. 


THE    UNCHASTE  267 

"  They  which  heard  it,  being  convicted  by  then-  own  con- 
science, went  out  one  by  one,  beginning  at  the  eldest,  even 
unto  the  last ;  and  Jesus  was  left  alone,  and  the  woman 
standing  in  the  midst." 

The  Pharisees  were  not  men  used  to  giving  up  an  argu- 
ment without  a  struggle.  In  many  a  previous  encounter 
with  Christ  they  had  stood  their  ground  with  thorough  Jew- 
ish obstinacy,  and  had  been  too  proud  to  own  themselves 
defeated.  But  there  are  times  when  argument  is  of  no  avail, 
because  it  is  not  a  mental  but  a  moral  crisis  which  over- 
whelms men.  They  are  overtaken  by  the  fierce  lightning  of 
Heaven,  and  have  no  time  to  run  for  shelter.  The  light  that 
shines  upon  them  is  so  vivid,  so  searching  and  tremendous, 
that  their  whole  life  is  illumined  by  it,  and  they  are  forced 
to  see  what  they  least  desire  to  see.  When  a  great  modern 
dramatist  would  depict  these  hours  of  intense  self-revelation 
he  does  so  by  a  series  of  highly  imaginative  symbols.  The 
wretched  man  who  has  wasted  his  life  in  extravagance  and 
vanity  hears  upon  the  mountain-side  wailing  voices  of  little 
children,  which  cry  to  him,  "  We  are  thoughts  :  thou  shouldst 
have  thought  us !  "  Withered  leaves  sweep  past  him  on  the 
accursed  air,  inurinurmg,  "  We  are  watch-words :  thou 
shouldst  have  planted  us !  "  Music,  full  of  ineffable  regret, 
sighs  on  his  ears,  "  We  are  songs  :  thou  shouldst  have  sung 
us  " ;  and  the  very  dewdrops  on  the  mountain-side  are  tears 
of  pity  that  were  never  shed.  It  was  the  peculiar  power  of 
Christ  to  make  men  feel  these  keen  regrets,  not  by  elaborate 
images,  but  by  single  words.  He  speaks  so  quietly  that 
men  think  it  is  their  own  hearts  that  speak.  He  suggests 
conclusions  which  we  imagine  are  our  own.  He  does  so  in 
this  case,  and  no  one  can  study  Christ's  treatment  of  the  un- 
chaste without  feeling  how  right  He  is.  Even  the  Pharisees 
felt  it.     They  realized  that  the  woman  they  had  accused  had 


268  THE    LIFE    OF   CHRIST 

become  their  accurser ;  the  Christ  they  would  have  snared 
had  become  their  judge.  Their  silent  departure  from  the 
scene,  each  with  bowed  head  and  fearful  heart,  was  the  ad- 
mission that  the  new  principles  of  justice  enunciated  by 
Christ  were  the  only  true  principles.  The  songs  they  might 
have  sung,  the  thoughts  they  might  have  thought,  they  heard 
that  day  upon  the  lips  of  Christ,  and  they  knew  them  for  the 
loftiest  truth  that  man  can  know. 

Sooner  or  later  the  world  must  accept  these  revolutionary 
principles  of  Christ,  if  society  is  to  live.  Christ  spoke  too 
early  by  two  thousand  years.  He  Himself  admitted  that  He 
had  much  to  say  which  the  world  could  not  bear  as  yet.  In 
spiritual  vision,  as  in  physical  vision,  "there  is  a  gradual 
adaptation  of  the  retina  to  various  amounts  of  light."  We 
must  not  despair  because  this  process  is  so  gradual  that  it 
appears  almost  imperceptible.  It  is  a  dangerous  error  to 
remit  any  social  idea  of  Christ,  however  startling,  to  the 
category  of  "charming  impossibilities."  As  the  world 
learns,  by  the  constant  failure  of  its  judicial  codes,  the  folly 
of  punishment  as  a  means  of  repressing  crime,  it  may  come 
to  see  that  forgiveness  is  a  better  remedy.  As  it  reaps  the 
fearful  aftermath  of  war,  it  may  become  suspicious  of  the 
doctrine  that  armed  force  is  necessary  for  the  welfare  of  so- 
ciety. As  it  is  confronted  more  and  more  with  its  own  in- 
justices, it  may  prefer  a  general  amnesty  to  wrong  to  meth- 
ods of  government  which  create  fresh  wrong  for  every  wrong 
they  crush.  Finally,  illumined  and  enriched  through  its 
illusions,  the  world  may  come  to  see  that  love  alone  is  the 
one  vital  principle  by  which  society  can  thrive.  Two  thou- 
sand years  of  experiment  and  error  will  then  seem  a  light 
price  to  have  paid  for  that  golden  age  which  will  begin  when 
man  at  last  is  brought  to  realize  that  "  love  worketh  no  ill  to 
his  neighbor ;  therefore  love  is  the  fulfilling  of  the  law." 


CHAPTER  XX 

THE   FULLER   EXPOSITION   OF   SOCIAL  TRUTHS 

The  final  portion  of  the  ministry  of  Jesus  may  be  traced 
with  tolerable  accuracy.  He  left  Galilee  in  the  October  of 
the  last  year  of  His  life,  in  order  to  be  present  at  the  Feast 
of  Tabernacles  in  Jerusalem,  remaining  in  Jerusalem  until 
the  Feast  of  Dedication,  which  took  place  in  December.  He 
then  departed  into  Perea,  returning  to  Bethany,  at  the  risk 
of  His  life,  in  order  to  raise  Lazarus  from  the  dead.  Imme- 
diately after  this  event  He  retired  to  the  secluded  district  of 
Ephraim,  which  lay  about  fifteen  miles  north  of  Jerusalem. 
"  Jesus  walked  no  more  openly  among  the  Jews,  but  went 
thence  into  a  country  near  to  the  wilderness,  into  a  city  called 
Ephraim,  and  there  continued  with  His  disciples."  A  brief 
journey  through  the  familiar  districts  of  Samaria  and  Galilee 
followed.  In  the  beginning  of  April  He  arrived  at  Bethany, 
and  six  days  later  He  was  crucified  by  the  order  of  Pontius 
Pilate. 

The  crowning  significance  of  this  final  section  of  Christ's 
life  is  curiously  attested  in  the  construction  of  the  Gospels. 
If  we  take  the  Transfiguration  as  marking  the  sublime  pref- 
ace to  the  closing  scenes,  we  find  that  the  greatest  teachings 
of  Christ  happened  after  this  event,  and  from  this  point  we 
have  a  narrative  of  much  greater  fulness  and  detail.  To  the 
acts  and  teachings  of  this  last  six  months  Matthew  devotes 
one-third  of  his  entire  Gospel,  Mark  nearly  one- half,  Luke 
more  than  one-half,  and  John  no  less  than  three- fourths. 
Each  evangelist  thus  betrays  his  consciousness  that  it  was  in 

269 


270  THE    LIFE    OF   CHRIST 

the  climax  of  His  life  that  Christ  was  host  known.  All  that 
had  gone  before  was  preliminary  and  prelusive.  His  thoughts 
now  take  a  final  form,  His  views  of  the  world  and  society  are 
vindicated  by  experience,  His  verdicts  are  decisive. 

These  last  utterances  of  Christ  are  mainly  concerned  with 
Himself  and  His  redemptive  mission ;  with  the  fuller  expo- 
sition of  social  truths ;  and  with  the  idea  of  a  final  judgment. 
We  may  postpone  the  consideration  of  the  first  of  these  top- 
ics, because  the  narrative  of  the  last  days  is  its  completest 
exposition ;  and  of  the  last,  because  the  social  teachings  are 
naturally  precedent  of  the  teachings  upon  judgment.  By  the 
social  teachings  of  Christ  we  mean  those  counsels  which 
aimed  at  a  fresh  construction  of  society.  It  was  with  such 
teachings  that  Christ  opened  His  career.  The  whole  Ser- 
mon on  the  Mount  is  an  impeachment  of  society.  His  own 
life  and  conduct  is  a  yet  stronger  impeachment.  He  is 
brought  into  contact,  at  every  point  in  His  ministry,  with  two 
systems  of  society,  the  Jewish  and  the  Roman,  each  of  which 
He  finds  is  composed  of  elements  which  are  hostile  to  human 
happiness.  The  one  is  based  upon  religion,  yet  so  com- 
pletely misinterpreted  religion  that  its  whole  spirit  is  harsh 
in  the  extreme ;  the  other  is  based  upon  a  frank  materialism, 
in  which  the  spirit  of  religion  has  no  part.  Each  had  suc- 
ceeded in  establishing  a  tyranny  under  which  man  was 
crushed.  The  Roman  especially  had  built  up  a  world-wide 
tyranny,  which  his  own  truest  philosophers  were  powerless 
to  resist.  The  very  power  of  protest  had  been  silenced.  A 
weight  of  horrible  monotony  oppressed  the  entire  ancient 
world.  The  life  which  we  see  at  a  distance  as  so  gay  and 
splendid  was  in  reality  full  of  that  peculiar  dreariness  which 
attends  the  loss  of  high  ideals.  Wise  men  felt  that  the  whole 
social  system  was  in  decay,  without  being  able  to  put  their 
finger  on  the  root  of  the  disease ;  common  and  ignorant  men 


EXPOSITION  OF  SOCIAL  TRUTHS    271 

felt  it  equally,  and  suffered  in  silence.  Christ  read  the  prob- 
lem with  a  clearer  eye.  He  combined  in  Himself  the  quali- 
ties of  the  mystic  and  the  man  of  action.  As  a  mystic  He 
possessed  that  rare  faculty  of  detachment  from  the  world,  by 
means  of  which  a  sober  and  impartial  judgment  of  the  world 
is  rendered  possible.  As  a  man  of  action,  equally  compas- 
sionate and  daring,  He  was  bound  to  propose  remedies  for 
an  evil  that  oppressed  His  own  spirit.  What  were  these 
remedies  which  He  proposed  ? 

They  were  three ;  the  first  of  which  was  the  re-establish- 
ment of  society  not  upon  a  basis  of  individual  assertion,  but 
of  social  service ;  not  on  pride,  but  humility  ;  not  on  the  hope 
of  immediate  or  gross  reward,  but  on  the  exceeding  great  re- 
ward which  virtue  finds  in  its  own  exercise,  and  the  felicity 
which  is  its  crown  in  after  worlds.  He  swept  with  one  com- 
prehensive glance  the  whole  Roman  civilization,  and  said  to 
His  disciples  "  So  shall  it  not  be  among  you."  At  the  apex 
of  that  civilization  stood  Ca?sar,  deranged  by  the  "  vertigo  of 
omnipotence  "  ;  at  the  base  lay  crushed  a  multitude  of  slaves, 
impotent  and  hopeless.  No  one  lived  a  life  of  reasonable 
simplicity  or  wise  contentment.  Ostentation  and  ambition 
ruled  the  world.  Rome  had  turned  the  world  into  a  theatre 
and  a  camp :  an  alternate  arena  of  vanity  and  cruelty ;  and 
that  appeared  to  be  the  one  result  which  her  social  system 
had  achieved.  All  men  were  infected  with  the  mania  of 
greatness,  power,  and  the  love  of  wealth.  Proconsuls,  satraps, 
panders,  marched  across  the  world,  each  with  his  dream  of 
sudden  fortune,  banquets,  triumphs,  adulation,  and  perhaps 
a  throne.  The  very  slave  hoped  to  reach  by  his  servility  a 
goal  he  could  not  gain  by  manly  virtue.  And  yet,  amid  the 
roaring  vortices  of  this  Maelstrom  of  materialism,  men  had 
sense  enough  to  know  that  they  were  whirled  upon  an  end- 
less circle  of  disgust  and  weariness.     No  one  was  happy,  and 


272  THE    LIFE    OF   CHRIST 

most  conspicuous  in  misery  was  Ciesar  himself.  No  one 
could  be  happy  until  the  spirit  of  social  service  supplanted 
this  mad,  insensate  passion  of  social  ambition.  "  So  shall  it 
not  be  among  you ;  but  whosoever  will  be  great  among  you, 
let  him  be  your  minister ;  and  whosoever  will  be  chiefest, 
shall  be  servant  of  all.  For  even  the  Son  of  Man  came  not 
to  be  ministered  unto,  but  to  minister,  and  to  give  His  life  a 
ransom  for  many." 

The  second  remedy  was  human  brotherhood.  There  can 
be  no  doubt  that  Christ  seriously  contemplated  the  recon- 
struction of  society  upon  principles  of  pure  benevolence.  We 
have  already  seen  how  strong  was  this  conviction  on  the  part 
of  Christ  in  His  treatment  of  the  unchaste ;  but  it  was  illus- 
trated in  many  other  ways,  and  from  time  to  time  was  enun- 
ciated with  a  startling  energy  of  phrase.  When  Peter  asks 
if  he  is  to  forgive  his  brother  seven  times,  Christ  replies  that 
he  is  to  forgive  him  "until  seventy  times  seven" — that  is, 
without  limit.  Men  are  not  to  judge  one  another  lest  they 
be  judged.  The  Mosaic  law  had  failed  to  build  up  a  virtuous 
society,  arid  so  had  all  law.  It  was  a  fallacy,  therefore,  to 
suppose  that  a  severe  administration  of  even  just  law  was  a 
panacea  for  the  diseases  of  society,  since  legal  systems  were 
unable  even  to  afford  a  real  protection  to  society.  The  one 
guarantee  of  social  hajopiness  was  love,  manifesting  itself  in 
a  widely  diffused  sense  of  brotherhood.  To  love  one's  neigh- 
bor as  himself  meant  the  keeping  of  the  law,  since  he  who 
loved  his  neighbor  would  be  incapable  of  the  spirit  of  covet- 
ous and  envy,  and  yet  more  incapable  of  crimes  wrought 
against  the  property,  the  person,  or  the  peace  of  his  neigh- 
bor. 

But  from  what  source  did  nine-tenths  of  all  the  social 
crimes  of   the   world    spring?     Christ   answered    unhesita 
tingly,  "  Either  from  the  desire  of  wealth,  in  the  narrowness 


EXPOSITION  OF  SOCIAL  TRUHTS    273 

of  aim  which  it  induces ;  or  from  the  possession  of  wealth, 
in  its  frequent  sterilization  of  natural  sympathies ;  or  from 
the  misapplication  of  wealth,  as  an  engine  of  pride,  oppres- 
sion, and  vainglory,  and  a  means  of  luxury  which  enervated 
and  destroyed  the  soul."  Christ  found  by  experience  that 
wealth,  as  a  rule,  was  a  fearful  obstacle  to  the  reception  of 
His  gospel.  There  were  many  notable  exceptions ;  quite 
enough  to  deter  Christ  from  any  general  denunciation  of 
rich  men  as  a  class.  An  unqualified  denunciation  of  wealth 
is  impossible  to  the  sober  thinker  who  perceives  how  often 
it  is  won  by  admirable  qualities,  used  with  a  wise  modera- 
tion of  personal  desires,  and  applied  to  the  general  good  of 
the  community.  But  there  can  be  no  doubt  that  a  society 
governed  by  a  love  of  wealth  is  capable  of  any  crime.  Nor 
can  there  be  much  doubt  that  wealth  more  often  proves  a 
curse  than  a  blessing  to  its  possessor,  because  it  fosters  a 
sense  of  irresponsibility,  it  isolates  its  possessor  from  the 
ordinary  experience  of  life,  it  constitutes  a  new  caste,  full  of 
arrogance ;  and,  in  the  degree  that  it  is  sought  with  vehem- 
ence, and  held  with  greed,  it  kills  the  finer  sentiments. 
Therefore  Christ's  third  remedy  for  the  diseased  society  in 
which  He  moved  was  to  enforce  the  truth  that  wealth  had 
duties  as  well  as  privileges.  He  did  not  contemplate  the 
abolition  of  wealth,  although  all  His  teachings  advocated  a 
simple  mode  of  life  ;  but  He  insisted  that  the  only  way  by 
which  the  rich  man  could  save  his  soul  alive  was  by  sharing 
his  wealth.  The  drastic  revolutions  which  strip  men  of 
their  wealth  never  leave  the  world  the  better  for  their 
violence,  because  in  the  end  all  that  they  effect  is  a  transfer- 
ence of  wealth  from  one  class  to  another ;  from  a  class 
which  misused  its  privileges  of  yesterday  to  one  that  will 
assuredly  misuse  the  same  privileges  to-morrow.  The  only 
rational  and  lasting  revolution  is  achieved  when  wealth  is 
18 


274  THE    LIFE    OF   CHRIST 

held  in  stewardship  from  God,  for  the  general  good  of  men ; 
and  wealth  is  never  perilous  to  its  possessor,  or  is  in  peril 
from  the  violent  resentment  of  the  destitute,  until  it  recol- 
lects its  privileges  alone,  and  ignores  its  duties. 

These  conclusions  Christ  expressed,  as  was  His  manner, 
in  parables.  We  have  three  of  these ;  one  is  the  difficult 
parable  of  the  unjust  steward ;  another  the  parable  of  the 
talents ;  the  last  the  parable,  or  rather  the  great  spiritual 
drama,  of  Dives  and  Lazarus.  In  these  stories  we  have 
the  fullest  exposition  of  the  social  principles  which  Christ 
inculcated. 

The  parable  of  the  unjust  steward  is  difficult  because  it 
appears  to  be  an  encomium  uttered  upon  a  thoroughly  cun- 
ning and  unscrupulous  man.  The  steward  has  been  un- 
faithful to  his  trust,  for  he  has  wasted  the  goods  of  his  lord. 
Ruin  threatens  him,  and  he  sees  no  means  of  averting  it, 
until  he  hits  upon  an  expedient  equally  novel  and  astute. 
He  is  a  clever  rogue,  and  his  actions  are  described  with  a 
kind  of  humor  which  would  be  greatly  relished  by  men  of 
the  world.  Seeing  nothing  but  beggary  before  him,  he  pro- 
ceeds to  ingratiate  himself  with  his  master's  debtors,  by  re- 
mitting their  obligations  upon  his  own  authority.  He  closes 
the  account  of  the  man  who  owes  a  hundred  measures  of  oil 
by  writing  off  half  his  debt,  and  the  man  who  owes  a  hun- 
dred measures  of  wheat  has  his  bill  made  out  for  four  score 
measures  only.  He  acutely  argues  chat  by  such  a  welcome 
compromise  he  will  make  these  men  his  friends  ;  and  they 
will  also  be  friends  completely  in  his  power,  because  they 
have  become  partners  in  his  own  fraud.  When  he  is  ex- 
pelled from  his  position  these  men  must  needs  receive  him 
into  their  houses.  They  dare  not  refuse  hospitality  to  one 
who  has  bought  their  silence,  who  holds  the  proof  of  their 
dishonesty,  and  is  prepared  to  expose  them  if  they  prove  re- 


EXPOSITION  OF  SOCIAL  TRUTHS    275 

calcitrant.  In  plain  language  the  man  is  a  thief,  and  in 
league  with  thieves ;  but  his  scheme  is  so  astute  that,  when 
it  becomes  known,  his  master  himself  cannot  refuse  that  kind 
of  admiration  which  honest  people  often  feel  for  the  man- 
oeuvres of  the  brilliant  rogue.  His  lord  commended  the  un- 
just steward  for  his  wordly  wisdom  ;  his  sense  of  humor 
being  so  tickled  by  the  cleverness  with  which  he  had 
been  cheated  that  he  was  reconciled  to  the  loss  he 
suffered. 

This  story  seems  unpromising  material  enough  for  the 
basis  of  any  kind  of  moral  teaching ;  but  we  must  recollect 
that  the  rule  already  laid  down  for  the  interpretation  of  pro- 
verbs applies  to  parables  also,  viz.,  that  in  such  utterances  a 
point  is  overstated,  and  all  qualifications  are  rejected,  in 
order  to  put  emphasis  upon  some  particular  truth.  The 
point  on  which  Christ  lays  stress  is  the  worldly  wisdom  of 
the  man.  He  had  the  sense  to  forecast  the  future  and  pre- 
pare for  it.  He  was  free  from  that  peculiar  besetment  of  the 
rich — the  belief  that  wealth  will  last  forever.  He  even  had 
some  sense  of  the  value  of  generous  deeds,  although  he  ex- 
pressed it  by  doubtful  means ;  for  by  timely  acts  of  kind- 
ness he  makes  friends  for  himself  against  the  day  of  calam- 
ity. In  these  things  the  rogue  acts  with  superior  acumen 
and  insight ;  he  is  wiser  in  his  generation  than  the  children 
of  light.  Christ  appears  to  say :  "  If  a  man  who  is  thus 
thoroughly  unscrupulous  has  the  prudence  to  act  with  a 
view  to  the  future,  how  is  it  that  the  professed  children 
of  light  live  with  so  little  thought  of  that  more  solemn  future 
which  they  name  Eternity  ?  How  is  it  that  they  use  their 
wealth  without  a  single  serious  thought  of  that  judgment  of 
wealth,  as  a  trust  and  stewardship,  which  will  come  in  the 
hour  when  they  meet  their  God  ?  "  The  stewardship  of 
wealth  is  thus  the  keynote  of  the  parable.     The  word  Mam- 


276  THE    LIFE    OF   CHRIST 

mon,  which  Christ  uses,  is  a  Syrian  word  which  means 
wealth  ;  and  He  says  men  cannot  both  serve  God  and  Mam- 
mon. Men  must  break  with  God  before  they  can  serve 
Mammon.  And  the  crying  evils  of  these  great  civilizations 
which  Christ  condemned  was  that  they  were  based  on  the 
love  of  wealth.  Conventional  piety  did  nothing  to  restrain 
this  love.  The  Jew  and  the  Pagan  alike  treated  wealth  as 
the  perquisite  of  his  own  happiness,  not  as  a  means  of  pub- 
lic good.  In  one  way  only  could  this  evil  be  cured  :  the  rich 
man  must  see  his  present  life  in  relation  to  Eternity.  He 
must  count  himself  the  steward  of  wealth  :  and  if  an  unjust 
steward  could  regulate  his  conduct  by  the  vision  of  the 
future,  how  much  more  should  the  good  steward  act  with  a 
constant  reference  to  the  final  judgments  of  God !  In  other 
words,  only  as  wealth  is  seen  in  the  light  of  eternal  things, 
with  all  the  solemn  implications  of  the  brevity  of  this  life, 
and  the  need  for  doing  good  in  a  life  that  is  so  brief,  can 
wealth  be  safely  held,  and  become  not  a  means  of  selfish 
pleasure,  but  a  noble  self-discipline  to  its  possessor ;  not  a 
curse  to  society,  but  a  blessing,  and  a  means  of  good. 

The  same  note  is  struck  again,  but  with  more  decision,  in 
the  great  parable  of  the  talents.  The  ceutral  idea  on  which 
the  parable  is  based  is  that  man,  whatever  be  his  social 
state,  is  the  depository  of  a  Divine  trust.  The  Kingdom  of 
Heaven  is  like  a  man  who  went  into  a  far  country,  leaving 
his  property  to  be  administered  by  his  servants.  Man  is 
thus  the  vicegerent  of  God ;  and  time  and  talent,  genius  and 
power,  every  form  of  human  gift  and  opportunity,  form  part 
of  the  wealth  of  God  which  is  adventured  in  man.  The  one 
supreme  business  of  man  in  the  theatre  or  mart  of  human  life 
is  to  be  the  faithful  custodian  of  the  trust  reposed  in  him.  A 
society  conducted  on  such  principles  could  not  fail  to  be  a 
wisely  ordered,  harmonious,  and  happy  society,  because  each 


EXPOSITION  OF  SOCIAL  TRUTHS    277 

of  its  units  would  contribute  his  quota  of  energy  and  effort 
to  the  common  store  ;  a  society  conducted  on  any  other 
principles  is  bound  to  sink  by  its  own  selfishness,  and  to  cor- 
rupt by  its  contempt  of  individual  responsibility. 

But  this  is  not  all.  Contempt  of  individual  responsibility 
often  springs  from  a  morbid  sense  of  the  littleness  of  human 
life  itself.  Why  struggle  to  do  great  things  for  a  world  that 
is  only  ours  on  the  terms  of  the  insecurest  tenancy,  a  world 
which  in  any  case  we  quit  so  soon  ?  This  was  the  argument 
of  the  man  with  the  one  talent.  He  did  not  deem  human 
life  worth  a  struggle ;  he  was  a  deserter  from  the  ranks  of 
labor ;  he  hid  his  talent  in  the  earth,  assuming  that  the 
world  could  have  no  just  cause  of  complaint  against  him 
simply  because  he  abstained  from  toils  which  were  distaste- 
ful to  him.  But  he  who  thus  evades  the  arduous  conscrip- 
tion of  life  is  not  only  an  enemy  of  society,  but  his  own 
worst  enemy.  He  is  his  own  worst  enemy,  because  it  is 
labor  which  develops  character,  and  he  who  refuses  from  any 
selfish  cause  this  means  of  development  soon  deteriorates. 
Life  without  duties  is  not  life  at  all.  He  who  does  the  hum- 
blest duty  faithfully  has  in  the  same  instant  proved  his  right 
to  live,  and  even  to  live  eternally.  For  the  most  striking 
thing  in  this  parable  is  Christ's  teaching  of  the  immortality 
of  all  capacity.  Christ  lifts  the  curtain  from  the  after-world 
only  to  reveal  that  world  not  as  rest  or  finality,  but  as  a  state 
of  constant  and  immitigable  progress.  The  stress  of  being 
and  of  effort  is  not  relaxed  at  death,  but  is  given  fresh  scope. 
Man  does  not  pass  into  repose  at  death,  but  into  a  new  world 
of  unresting  and  unceasing  activities.  The  duties  which  are 
duties  here  will  be  duties  there.  The  life  which  the  good 
man  has  lived  here  will  be  essentially  the  life  which  he  will 
live  there.  There  is  absolute  continuity  of  life,  and  absolute 
identity  of  character  in  this  world  and  the  next ;  the  only 


278  THE    LIFE    OF   CHRIST 

difference  being  that  tlie  after-life  is  lived  upon  a  higher 
plane,  and  is  made  capable  of  nobler  service.  The  good 
servant  has  not  reached  his  goal ;  he  has  only  sighted  a 
diviner  goal.  He  has  not  finished  his  work ;  he  has  only 
entered  on  a  loftier  stage  of  it.  He  has  not  completed  his 
programme  of  activity  with  his  last  breath ;  he  has  only 
passed  out  of  his  apprenticeship,  and  fitted  himself  for  the 
new  responsibility  of  being  ruler  over  many  things.  He 
steps  into  heaven  as  a  soldier  steps  from  the  ranks  to  receive 
his  company,  as  the  reward  of  faithful  service  on  the  field. 
He  has  done  well  only  that  he  may  do  better.  The  reward 
of  all  his  toil  is  that  he  may  be  promoted  to  yet  harder  toil, 
and  this  is  the  reward  which  he  himself  most  covets. 
Heaven  is  thus  not  attainment,  but  a  constantly  enlarging 
faculty  of  attainment ;  it  is  to  enter  into  the  joy  of  God,  that 
joy  of  a  glad  and  infinite  energy,  perpetually  spent  but  never 
exhausted,  because  it  grows  and  thrives  upon  its  own  im- 
mortal ardors. 

The  bearing  of  this  lofty  doctrine  upon  social  life  is  very 
evident.  Society  may  be  defined  as  a  cooperative  scheme  of 
human  happiness.  It  is  the  bank  of  effort  into  which  every 
human  creature  pays  his  energies,  from  which  he  draws  his 
dividends.  The  man  who  spends  his  life  not  in  duties,  but 
in  pleasures,  is  a  recusant  from  this  fraternity  of  toil.  The 
indolence  of  the  few,  supported  by  the  labor  of  the  many,  is 
a  constant  menace  to  the  social  order.  Inequality  of  circum- 
stance Christ  accepts ;  but  not  inequality  in  the  incidence  of 
labor.  The  Eoman  system  of  society,  which  was  based  upon 
a  scorn  of  labor ;  which  exhibited  patrician  life  in  all  its 
stately  languors  as  the  perfect  life  ;  which  drained  the  veins 
of  all  the  world  to  support  a  few  in  wealth  far  beyond  their 
needs ;  was  a  system  absolutely  false,  full  of  peril  to  all,  and 
doomed  to  utter  failure.     Christ  substituted  for  it  a  coopera- 


EXPOSITION  OF  SOCIAL  TRUTHS    279 

tive  scheme  of  social  welfare,  in  which  every  unit  of  society 
bore  his  part.  The  greater  the  ability,  the  station,  or  the 
wealth,  the  greater  was  the  obligation  and  responsibility  for 
the  welfare  of  society ;  and  thus  the  parable  of  the  talents  is 
a  programme  of  that  only  true  society  in  which  each  member 
takes  his  share  of  the  common  burden  according  to  his  sev- 
eral ability. 

The  third  great  parable  in  which  Jesus  expressed  his 
social  idea  is  that  of  Dives  and  Lazarus.  It  is  a  double 
spiritual  drama,  the  first  part  of  which  passes  on  earth,  the 
second  in  the  after-world. 

The  first  part  of  the  drama  depicts  for  us  the  life  of  a  rich 
man,  spent  in  a  sort  of  splendid  isolation,  a  fastidious  seclu- 
sion, into  which  the  "  still,  sad  music  of  humanity  "  is  not 
allowed  to  penetrate.  Dives  is  not  a  bad  man ;  he  is  such 
an  one  as  the  young  Ruler  himself,  grown  a  little  older,  more 
than  ever  convinced  of  the  advantages  of  wealth,  and  deter- 
mined to  make  the  most  of  those  advantages.  Christ  does 
not  accuse  him  of  any  grossness  of  conduct,  beyond  a  some- 
what inordinate  attention  to  the  pleasures  of  the  table.  It  is 
not  so  much  as  hinted  that  he  had  won  his  wealth  by  any 
dishonest  or  dishonorable  means.  It  is  quite  possible  that 
it  was  his  by  inheritance,  and  that  he  had  never  known  any 
other  life  than  that  of  sober  order,  solid  comfort,  and  sus- 
tained splendor.  Nor  was  he  a  man  distinguished  by  any 
special  harshness  of  temper  toward  the  poor.  It  is  not  said 
that  Dives  did  not  feed  the  beggar  at  his  gate ;  the  inference 
is  that  Dives  did  feed  Lazarus,  for  the  beggar  would  not  have 
been  found  daily  at  his  doors,  "  desiring  the  crumbs  that  fell 
from  the  rich  man's  table,"  unless  some  fragments  of  the 
sumptuous  feast  were  flung  to  him.  Traditional  exegesis 
has  done  injustice  to  Dives  in  making  his  name  the  synonym 
of  a  cruel  and  heartless  brutality  toward  the  poor ;  on  the 


280  THE    LIFE    OF   CHRIST 

contrary,  Dives  appears  to  have  been  the  type  of  the  pros- 
perous Pharisee ;  a  narrow  good  man,  faithful  to  his  religion, 
precise  and  mechanical  in  discharging  its  obligations,  tithing 
himself  of  all  that  he  possessed,  distributing  alms  daily — a 
trifle  ostentatiously  perhaps — and  never  for  an  instant  sus- 
pecting that  he  was  not  a  man  of  admirable  qualities,  and 
even  an  example  of  good  conventional  citizenship.  What, 
then,  was  his  sin?  It  was  deliberate  destitution  of  social 
love  and  sympathy.  It  was  not  destitutien  of  personal  affec- 
tion ;  he  had  loved  his  kinsfolk  and  his  brethren,  and  in  the 
after-world  loves  them  still  with  a  solicitude  which  is  his 
torture.  But  he  had  no  elementary  sense  of  what  it  is  that 
constitutes  the  brotherhood  of  man.  He  possessed  the  worst 
vice  of  the  aristocrat,  the  desire  to  widen  as  far  as  possible 
the  golf  that  yawned  between  himself  and  the  common  peo- 
ple. He  was  charitable  to  them  ;  but  it  was  with  the  galling 
condescension  of  the  superior  to  the  inferior.  Lazarus  might 
be  fed  from  his  table,  so  might  the  dogs ;  but  if  any  one  had 
hinted  to  him  that  Lazarus  had  human  claims  upon  him  he 
would  have  deemed  it  an  intolerable  affront.  He  loved  those 
who  loved  him ;  within  the  limits  of  his  own  social  order  he 
manifested  many  pleasant  and  engaging  qualities ;  but  the 
idea  that  Lazarus  was  entitled  to  anything  more  than  the 
crumbs  which  fell  from  his  table  was  an  impertinence.  With 
these  crumbs  and  fragments  of  his  daily  feast  he  paid  in  full 
his  social  obligations  to  the  beggar,  or  so  he  believed ;  any 
closer  personal  relation  seemed  unnecessary.  Day  by  day 
kind  and  faithful  hands  bore  the  cripple  to  his  accustomed 
place.  There  through  the  long  day  he  lay  in  miserable  de- 
formity, the  comrade  of  the  dogs ;  at  night  he  was  carried 
back  to  his  rude  hovel ;  and  this  trite  drama  of  unpitied 
poverty  had  gone  on  for  years.  But  in  all  those  years  Dives 
had  never  spoken  to  him ;  there  was  a  great  gulf  between 


EXPOSITION  OF  SOCIAL  TRUTHS    281 

them.  He  had  taken  him,  and  his  want  and  beggary,  for 
granted;  it  was  no  affair  of  his.  The  barrier  of  a  cruel 
social  ostracism  rose  between  them,  and  the  sin  of  Dives  was 
that  he  had  never  passed  that  barrier  to  speak  a  word  of 
kindness  to  the  beggar,  and  had  never  once  perceived  the 
essential  and  Divine  fact  of  his  human  brotherhood  with 
him. 

There  is  a  great  gulf  between  Dives  and  the  beggar,  says 
Jesus;  but  it  is  a  gulf  which  Dives  himself  has  made. 
Through  mere  pride  of  nature,  or  that  baser  sort  of  pride 
which  springs  from  great  possessions ;  through  egoism  which 
develops  into  arrogance,  and  fastidious  love  of  isolation  which 
rapidly  becomes  contempt  for  ignorance  and  misfortune; 
through  unchecked  faults  of  education,  through  the  force  of 
selfish  social  traditions,  through  the  mere  sense  of  self-im- 
portance nurtured  and  inflamed  by  relative  affluence — through 
these,  and  many  similar  causes,  men  are  apt  to  drift  away 
from  any  real  brotherhood  with  the  race.  The  least  that  one 
can  ask  of  wealth  is  that  it  should  moderate  the  sense  of 
disparity  between  itself  and  poverty  by  noble  manners,  fine 
courtesy,  and  the  gracious  temper  which  disdains  to  take  ad- 
vantage of  the  vain  distinctions  of  superior  rank  and  birth. 
But  Dives  had  done  his  best  not  to  abridge  but  to  cultivate 
these  disparities.  Christ  shows  us  that  these  disparities  go 
far  deeper  than  even  Dives  had  supposed.  They  are  dispari- 
ties of  soul  as  well  as  circumstance.  The  soul  of  the  beggar 
has  grown  silently  and  nobly  in  the  hard  disciplines  of  life ; 
but  the  soul  of  Dives  had  withered  in  his  sumptuous  ease. 
And  when  the  curtain  lifts  upon  the  after-world,  this  great 
gulf,  whose  first  line  of  cleavage  may  be  traced  in  the  earthly 
conduct  of  the  rich  man,  has  become  unfathomable.  Lazarus 
cannot  pass  that  gulf  to  comfort  Dives  even  if  he  would ; 
Abraham  cannot  pass  it.     It  would  have  been  so  easy  to 


282  THE    LIFE    OF   CHRIST 

bridge  that  gulf  of  menacing  disparity  on  earth :  a  single 
kind  word,  the  hand  of  Dives  laid  but  an  instant  in  the  hand 
of  Lazarus,  would  have  done  it ;  but  now  nothing  human  can 
achieve  it.  Dive  sees  far  off  the  shining  throngs  of  those 
who  are  now  the  equals  of  the  angels,  and  Lazarus  among 
them.  He  sees  the  city  of  God,  "  along  whose  terraces  there 
walk  men  and  women  of  awful  and  benignant  features,  who 
view  him  with  distant  commiseration  "  ;  but  they  are  as  high 
above  him  as  he  once  deemed  himself  high  above  Lazarus. 
They  may  commiserate,  but  they  cannot  help  him.  He  who 
wilfully  puts  a  gulf  between  himself  and  the  good,  the  hum- 
ble, and  the  poor,  finds  hereafter  that  the  gulf  is  wider  than 
he  knew.  In  drifting  out  of  touch  with  the  poor  and  hum- 
ble he  has  drifted  out  of  touch  with  God. 

The  problems  of  the  state  of  Dives  in  the  after-world  be- 
long rather  to  the  teachings  of  Jesus  upon  judgment  than  to 
His  purely  social  teachings ;  yet  Christ  makes  it  clear  that 
the  vision  of  the  after-world  is  necessary  to  the  right  inter- 
pretation of  all  social  duty.  This  is  Christ's  consistent 
thought  in  each  of  these  great  stories.  It  is  the  prudent  use 
of  life  with  a  view  to  treasure  in  the  heavens  that  is  the  theme 
of  the  first  story ;  the  continuity  of  life,  surviving  through 
eternal  destinies,  that  is  the  theme  of  the  second ;  while  in 
the  last  the  life  of  Dives  is  not  rightly  comprehended  till  it 
is  suddenly  transported  to  a  loftier  stage,  where  it  moves 
amid  the  dreadful  pomp  and  solemn  pageant  of  "a  world  to 
come.  The  conclusion  is  irresistible,  and  it  is  one  upon 
which  all  subsequent  history  has  set  its  seal — viz.,  that  it  is 
by  spiritual  means  alone  that  social  reformations  can  be 
worked  out.  Man  in  his  elementary  state  is  merely  an  ani- 
mal with  a  larger  brain ;  able,  by  his  very  power  of  reason, 
to  practice  a  superior  cunning  in  procuring  the  means  of  his 
material  pleasures.     He  is  not,  indeed,  without  his  altruistic 


EXPOSITION  OF  SOCIAL  TRUTHS    283 

instincts,  but  these  instincts  are  feeble  at  the  best,  and  are 
rapidly  eliminated  in  the  struggle  for  existence.     Nothing 
can  persuade  him  that  wealth  is  not  the  chief  object  of  ex- 
istence so  long  as  he  sees  his  life  as  ended  by  the  grave ; 
nothing  can  turn  him  from  the  quest  of  wealth,  nor  make 
him  conscious  of  the  degradation  of  the  quest,  so  long  as  he 
believes  his  little  earthly  life  the  only  life  he  has.     It  is  the 
vision  of  the  after-world  alone  that  lends  a  true  perspective 
to  the  earthly  life.     And  so  we  find  that  the  new  society 
which  Christ  designed  first  took  shape  in  the  hearts  of  men 
subtly  quickened  and  exalted  by  the  great  conviction  that 
they  moved  hourly  toward  a  world  that  faded  not  away,  which 
was  out  of  sight.     The  first  Christians  could  surrender  all 
they  had,  and  live  in  cheerful  communism,  simply  because 
the  vision  of  a  world  to  come  had  taught  them  to  hold  of 
small  account  the  prizes  of  the  present  world.     Great  con- 
fraternities in  every  age,  practicing  the  widest  charities,  and 
exhibiting  the  noblest  spirit  of  renunciation,  have  maintained 
themselves  by  the  ardor  of  the  same  lofty  and  liberating 
thought.     The  benefactors,  the  educators,  the  strenuous  re- 
formers of  the  human  race,  have,  with  scarcely  an  exception, 
been  men  deeply  penetrated  by  the  sense  of  an  eternal  life. 
The  seed  of  social  ethics  fructifies  alone  in  spiritual  expe- 
rience.    To  be  good  and  kind,  to  be  consistently  charitable 
and  self-sacrificing,  men  need  more  than  a  vague  enthusiasm 
of  humanity,  which  seldom  survives  for  long  the  obduracy  of 
the  foolish  and  the  baseness  of  the  ungrateful.     They  need 
to  know  that  these  are  virtues  which   God  demands   from 
man,  because  they  are  His  own  virtues,  and  that  both  their 
sanction  and  reward  are  with   God,  who  desires   that  man 
should  be  perfect  as  He  is  perfect.     The  eternal  struggle  of 
the  world  is  between  the  material  and  the  spiritual.     It  is 
vain  to  hope  for  spiritual  reconstruction  without  spiritual  de- 


284  THE    LIFE    OF   CHRIST 

liverance.  The  one  abiding  sanction  of  social  ethics  is  a 
spiritual  conception  of  human  life ;  and  this  is  to  say  that 
Christianity  alone  can  liberate  society  from  the  corruption 
of  its  selfishness,  because  Christianity  alone  can  supply  the 
spiritual  force  which  is  requisite  for  this  deliverance.  The 
life  of  Dives  is  not  comprehended  until  the  curtain  lifts  on 
an  unearthly  scene,  amid  whose  dread  solemnities  we  over- 
hear the  outcry  and  debate  of  his  astonished  soul ;  nor  is  the 
general  life  of  man  other  than  a  fragment  and  a  riddle  till  it 
is  seen  in  its  relation  to  Eternity. 


CHAPTER  XXI 

THE   TEACHINGS   UPON   JUDGMENT 

The  social  teachings  of  Christ,  taken  simply  as  counsels 
for  the  present  life,  do  much  to  invigorate  human  self-respect, 
and  to  impart  a  new  dignity  to  human  life.  They  are  utili- 
tarian in  the  highest  degree,  in  the  sense  that  they  afford  a 
practicable  scheme  of  general  happiness.  But  the  history 
of  mankind  shows  that  utilitarianism  seldom  has  any  deep 
or  prolonged  effect  upon  human  conduct.  Utilitarianism 
may  advance  arguments  incomparably  lucid  and  cogent  in 
themselves,  yet  they  will  be  disregarded  simply  because  men 
in  general  are  governed  rather  through  their  imagination  than 
their  reason.  An  ideal  of  truth  or  virtue,  which  the  imagi- 
nation may  clothe  with  a  Divine  nimbus,  is  of  far  greater 
effect  in  influencing  conduct  than  the  clearest  motives  of  self- 
advantage  which  may  be  enunciated  by  the  reason. 

Christ  was  perfectly  aware  of  this  truth,  and  therefore  He 
never  based  social  duty  on  utilitarian  motives  alone.  The 
great  philosophers  of  antiquity,  who  had  really  taught  almost 
all  that  He  Himself  taught  on  good  social  conduct,  had  in- 
variably based  their  counsels  on  utilitarianism,  and  for  that 
very  reason  they  had  failed.  It  is  not  enough  to  tell  men 
that  this  or  that  course  of  conduct  is  wise ;  they  must  be  as- 
sured that  it  is  right.  The  man  most  in  error  is  usually 
conscious  enough  of  his  unwisdom  ;  what  he  lacks  is  the  con- 
viction that  he  is  wrong,  and  also  some  powerful  motive 
which  will  enable  him  to  do  right.  Christ  found  this  mo- 
tive in  the  nature  of  God.     A  gracious  and  benignant  God, 

285 


28G  THE    LIFE    OF   CHRIST  . 

presiding  over  the  world  and  its  affairs,  would  certainty  de- 
mand benignant  acts  and  tempers  in  His  creatures.  And  as 
certainly  He  would  judge  and  punish  contrary  acts  and  tem- 
pers. Hence  there  grew  up  in  the  mind  of  Jesus  the  sublime 
thought  of  a  constant  and  a  final  judgment,  by  means  of 
which  God  would  punish  the  obstinately  wicked,  reward  the 
good,  redress  all  wrong,  and  compensate  the  victims  of  injus- 
tice for  the  pains  and  sorrows  they  had  suffered  at  the  hands 
of  evil  men. 

This  was  to  the  Jew  no  novel  thought ;  but  it  had  shared 
the  fate  of  all  sublime  thoughts  which  have  become  familiar 
or  scholastic,  in  being  debased  by  a  thousand  trivialities  of 
interpretation.  On  the  eastern  side  of  Jerusalem  yawned 
the  gorge  or  valley  of  Jehosophat,  where  it  was  supposed  the 
final  judgment  of  the  world  would  take  place.  At  a  given 
hour,  fixed  in  the  counsels  of  the  Most  High,  the  valley 
would  expand  miraculously  to  afford  room  for  the  uncounted 
multitudes  who  would  then  throng  to  the  verdicts  of  the  last 
assize.  The  neighboring  gorge  of  Hinnom,  once  the  scene 
of  abhorred  sacrifices  to  Moloch,  now  the  detested  crema- 
torium of  all  the  offal  of  the  city,  and  known  as  Tophet,  or 
the  place  of  fire,  was  the  appointed  prison  of  the  impenitent. 
The  valley  of  Gehinnom  became  by  a  contraction  Gehenna, 
or  hell,  and  is  so  spoken  of  by  both  Jews  and  Mohammedans 
to  the  present  day.  What  would  happen  in  this  last  assize 
was  a  subject  of  eternal  and  often  childish  dispute  among 
the  Rabbis.  They  all  held  that  the  righteous  would  then 
enter  into  life  eternal,  but  opinions  were  greatly  divided  as 
to  the  fate  of  the  wicked.  Some  held  that  the  wicked  would 
then  be  annihilated  in  the  flames  of  Gehenna ;  others  that 
they  would  "  go  down  to  Gehinnom,  and  moan  and  come  up 
again."  Some  imagined  the  spirits  of  all  Israelites  as  con- 
fined in  these  flames  of  Gehenna,  to  be  released  at  the  word 


TEACHINGS  UPON  JUDGMENT      287 

of  tlie  Messiah,  who  was  the  appointed  Judge  of  all  things  ; 
others  described  hell  as  being  itself  extinguished  in  a  final 
restitution  of  the  world  to  God — "  There  is  no  Gehinnom  in 
the  world  to  come "  was  a  familiar  Jewish  saving.  Yet 
another  school  of  teachers  pictured  the  sheath  of  the  sun  as 
withdrawn  in  his  last  days,  so  that  a  mighty  conflagration 
swept  the  world,  from  which  the  righteous  only  would  emerge, 
purified  and  made  mortal  in  this  bath  of  flame.  It  will  be 
seen  from  the  nature  of  these  extraordinary  beliefs  that 
while  the  Jewish  mind  dwelt  much  upon  the  theme  of  judg- 
ment, there  was  the  widest  diversity  of  teaching  as  to  its 
processes,  especially  in  relation  to  the  wicked.  Gehenna  is  va- 
riously conceived  as  purgatory,  as  a  prison-house  of  tor- 
ture, and  as  a  pit  of  annihilation ;  the  Judgment  itself  as 
the  vindication  of  the  Jew.  and  as  the  general  assize  of  the 
world. 

Now  it  is  of  great  importance  to  remember  that  when 
Christ  spoke  of  judgment  He  used  the  natural  language  of 
His  time,  which  was  perfectly  familiar  to  the  Jew.  How 
far  may  we  accept  this  language  as  the  language  of  His  own 
mind?  How  far  did  He  adopt  popular  symbols  of  speech 
as  an  accommodation  to  the  comprehension  of  His  hearers  ? 
These  are  questions  difficult  to  decide,  and  perhaps  no  final 
decision  can  be  reached.  When  Christ  speaks,  in  one  of 
His  earlier  parables,  of  the  tares  of  the  field  being  burned  up 
in  the  day  of  harvest,  He  certainly  prefigures  the  total  an- 
nihilation of  wickedness  and  the  wicked  in  terms  that  scarcely 
admit  dispute.  "  The  Son  of  Man  shall  send  forth  the  angels, 
and  they  shall  gather  out  of  His  kingdom  all  things  that 
offend  and  them  that  do  iniquity,  and  shall  cast  them  into  a 
furnace  of  fire."  When  He  speaks  in  the  same  parable  of 
the  righteous  shining  forth  "  as  the  sun  in  the  kingdom  of 
the  Father,"  there  is  a  clear  echo  of  the  legend  that  in  the 


288  THE    LIFE    OF    CHRIST 

last  day  the  sheath  of  the  sun  would  be  removed,  pouring 
healing  flame  upon  the  blessed  and  consuming  flame  upon 
the  evil.  Nor  can  we  doubt  in  what  sense  He  used  the  word 
hell,  since  hell  was  the  common  sjmonym  of  that  Gehenna, 
in  whose  ceaseless  fires  the  pollutions  of  the  city  were  con- 
sumed. Gehenna  to  the  Jew  was  a  fearful  and  a  noisome 
spectacle ;  yet  it  had  its  cheerful  aspect  too,  since  its  flame 
was  cleansing  flame,  by  whose  deadly  yet  benignant  energy 
the  health  of  the  city  was  ensured.  But  the  truth  is,  that 
Christ's  deliberate  thought  ought  not  to  be  deduced  from  the 
popular  symbols  He  emplo}*ed,  which  are  always  capable  of 
various  interpretation.  If  Christ  used  these  symbols  it  was 
because  He  knew  that  they  conveyed  instant  images  to  the 
mind  of  great  suggestiveness  and  force,  and  in  this  sense 
they  were  an  accommodation  to  the  comprehension  of  His 
hearers.  In  the  same  manner,  when  we  say  that  the  sun 
rises  or  sets  we  use  a  symbolic  phrase  which  is  scientifically 
untrue  ;  yet  we  use  it  without  scruple,  although  we  know  that 
it  is  incorrect,  because  it  conveys  most  readily  the  image  of 
what  we  mean.  So  Christ  used  familiar  Jewish  terms  on 
judgment  without  defining  the  degree  of  their  accuracy  or 
inaccuracy.  He  knew  that  they  were  variously  interpreted, 
yet  He  used  them  because  they  conveyed  His  general  mean- 
ing with  vividness  and  force,  and  for  the  purposes  of  a  popu- 
lar discourse  this  was  enough.  But  the  use  of  these  phrases 
was  constantly  corrected  by  His  more  deliberate,  delicate, 
and  discriminating  utterances  upon  judgment,  precisely  as 
science  corrects  our  popular  descriptions  of  natural  phenom- 
ena. We  must  therefore  turn  to  these  if  we  would  know  the 
mind  of  Christ.  We  must  examine  the  principles  of  judg- 
ment, not  the  pictures  only ;  and  we  must  do  so  with  the 
clear  understanding  that  no  word  of  Christ's  is  of  private  in- 
terpretation.    All  that  He  taught  must  be  consistently  re- 


TEACHINGS  UPON  JUDGMENT      289 

viewed  in  the  light  of  His  own  character  and  by  the  measure 
of  His  own  temper. 

The  phrases  used  by  Christ,  then,  in  the  expression  of  His 
thoughts  on  judgment,  may  be  set  aside,  not  indeed  as  unim- 
portant, but  as  unessential.  It  is  almost  impossible  to  as- 
certain that  the  word  "  eternal "  referred  to  eternity  in  the 
strict  sense ;  certainly  it  was  used  with  many  shades  of 
meaning  by  the  Jewish  Rabbis.  It  is  equally  difficult  to  de- 
cide what  meaning  the  Jews  attached  to  the  word  Gehenna, 
or  hell,  as  a  spiritual  symbol.  Upon  the  whole  it  may  be 
said  that  the  Jews  did  believe  in  some  form  of  eternal  pun- 
ishment, and  that  Christ,  in  using  the  phrase,  used  the  com- 
mon theological  language  of  His  time ;  but  it  was  so  vaguely 
denned  that  it  covered  many  doctrines  and  ideas.  How 
unwilling  the  Jew  was  to  attach  to  the  phrase  those  dreadful 
ideas  of  endless  torture,  which  sprang  from  the  harsher  mind 
of  mediaeval  Christendom,  is  curiously  indicated  by  a  custom 
which  still  survives,  of  which  the  writer  himself  was  once  a 
witness.  An  old  man  was  brought  from  the  town  of  Safed, 
"  the  city  on  a  hill "  of  which  Christ  spake,  to  die  beside  the 
waters  of  Tiberias.  Immediately  before  death  his  neck  was 
broken  by  another  man,  who  thus  became  his  scapegoat  and 
accepted  the  burden  of  his  sins.  When  this  man  came  near 
the  hour  of  death,  he  in  turn  would  surrender  himself  to  the 
hand  of  the  slayer,  and  his  sins  would  in  like  manner  fall 
upon  another.  The  meaning  of  this  extraordinary  custom, 
according  to  local  tradition,  appeared  to  be  that  in  the  end 
of  the  world  there  would  be  but  one  man  who  would  pass 
into  hell,  the  sin  of  the  whole  world,  by  these  reiterated  acts 
of  transference,  being  summed  up  in  him  alone.  A  sublime 
idea  which,  however  painfully  expressed,  does  credit  to  the 
charity  of  the  human  heart !  It  is  so  that  man  constantly 
moderates  the  logic  of  the  reason  by  the  logic  of  the  heart ; 
19 


290  THE    LIFE   OF   CHRIST 

and  in  the  Jewish  doctrine  of  punishment,  which  Christ  ac- 
cepted, there  were  many  such  modifications,  which  make  it 
so  difficult  to  attach  exact  meanings  to  such  phrases  as  Hell 
and  Everlasting  Punishment,  that  it  would  be  folly  to  build 
any  definite  doctrine  upon  them. 

But  if  we  turn  from  words  and  phrases  to  principles  we 
find  Christ  speaking  with  perfect  clearness  of  thought  and 
firmness  of  definition.  Thus,  in  one  of  His  earlier  parables, 
He  describes  two  servants,  of  whom  one  knew  his  lord's  will 
and  one  did  not.  They  are  both  unfaithful  servants,  but  they 
are  not  equally  unfaithful.  The  one  who  knew  his  lord's 
will  and  did  it  not  is  beaten  with  many  stripes;  the  other, 
who  knew  not  his  lord's  will  and  did  things  worthy  of  stripes, 
is  beaten  with  few  stripes.  This  saying  is  undoubtedly 
meant  as  a  reference  to  the  Gentile  nations ;  and  it  is  char- 
acteristic of  St.  Luke,  who  was  himself  a  Gentile  and  always 
eager  to  collect  all  the  words  of  Christ  which  were  favorable 
to  the  Gentiles,  that  he  reports  it  while  St.  Matthew  omits 
it.  And  it  is  a  very  significant  saj-ing,  too,  when  we  remem- 
ber that  one  of  the  most  popular  descriptions  of  the  judgment 
of  the  world  in  the  valley  of  Jehosophat  represented  the 
Gentiles  as  arguing  in  vain  with  God,  who  will  hear  none  of 
their  pleas,  but  drives  them  from  Him  into  hopeless  punish- 
ment. Christ,  with  a  single  word,  clears  the  judgment  of 
God  from  all  these  elements  of  rancor  or  vindictiveness  by 
showing  that  punishment  is  proportioned  to  offence  with  the 
nicest  accuracy.  Extenuations  are  allowed,  and  even  wel- 
comed, by  the  Judge  who  willeth  not  the  death  of  the  sinner, 
but  rather  that  he  should  turn  and  live.  Ignorance  of  truth 
does  not  wholly  exculpate  or  justify  the  growth  of  error,  but 
it  excites  pity,  it  moderates  rebuke,  it  is  a  plea  for  mercy. 
This  conclusion,  whose  justice  none  can  question,  was  here- 
after to  become,  in  the  lips  of  St.  Paul,  an  eloquent  apology 


TEACHINGS  UPON  JUDGMENT      291 

for  the  Gentiles,  who,  being  without  law,  were  to  be  judged 
as  without  law ;  and  it  is  still  the  consolation  of  pious  minds, 
oppressed  with  the  problem  of  what  God  may  do  with  the 
heathen  peoples  who  know  Him  not.  "Whatever  God  does 
will  be  just,  says  Christ ;  so  just  that  the  criminal  himself 
will  acquiesce  with  the  justice  of  the  Judge.  There  are  no 
wholesale  condemnations ;  every  case  will  be  tried  with  an 
infinite  delicacy  of  discrimination ;  and  in  every  case  the 
punishment  which  God  decrees  will  be  proportioned  with 
exactitude  to  the  offence. 

Another  principle  of  after-judgment  is  the  principle  of 
compensation.  This  was  an  habitual  thought  of  Christ.  It 
is  expressed  in  the  Sermon  on  the  Mount,  as  a  principle  that 
subtly  works  through  .all  the  fortunes  of  this  present  life. 
The  poor  and  the  meek,  those  who  mourn  and  those  who  are 
persecuted,  are  by  no  means  neglected  or  forgotten  by  the 
heavenly  Judge ;  they  find  things  made  up  to  them  in  the . 
tranquillity  or  joy  of  their  own  spirits.  The  disciples  them- 
selves, when  they  speak  half-regretfully  of  the  sacrifices  they 
have  made  for  their  Master's  sake,  are  assured  that  even  in 
the  present  world  they  will  gain  far  more  than  they  have 
lost.  The  doctrine  is  used  as  a  weapon  of  terrible  irony 
and  rebuke  against  the  rich,  who  are  told  that  they  have  had 
their  consolations  in  this  life  and  need  expect  nothing  in  the 
life  to  come.  And  it  is  used  with  even  more  startling  force 
in  the  parable  of  Dives  and  Lazarus,  where  it  is  assumed 
that  Lazarus  had  some  right  to  compensation  in  another 
world  for  the  sorrows  and  indignities  which  he  had  endured 
in  this.  The  influence  which  these  thoughts  have  exercised 
upon  the  world  has  been  enormous.  Christianity  found  its 
earliest  converts  among  the  drudges  of  society ;  among  those 
who  were,  like  Lazarus,  familiar  with  disease  and  beggary ; 
and  the  idea  of  compensation  was  like  a  silver  chime  of  hope 


292  THE    LIFE    OF   CHRIST 

heard  through  the  darkness  of  a  long  night  and  heralding 
the  dawn.  But  they  would  never  have  believed  it  true  if  the 
instincts  of  the  heart  had  not  affirmed  it  just.  The  man  who 
is  disinherited  of  all  the  joy  and  ease  of  life  does  not  need 
to  be  persuaded  that  he  has  a  claim  on  God  for  compensa- 
tion. He  can  afford  to  wait  if  he  can  believe  that  God  is  not 
unmindful  of  him.  He  can  accept  his  lot  with  fortitude, 
with  admirable  tranquillity,  with  a  sense  of  superiority  to 
destiny,  if  he  can  believe  that  the  long  arrears  of  pain  will 
be  overpaid  some  day  in  the  inalienable  felicity  of  heaven. 
The  patience  of  the  poor,  that  inimitable  patience  which  en- 
dures in  silence  the  infliction  of  a  thousand  wrongs,  has 
owed  itself  through  many  centuries  to  this  hope.  "  God  will 
make  it  up  to  us,  for  God  is  just,"  is  the  unspoken  comfort 
of  the  meek,  who  see  life  pass  before  them  like  a  pageant 
from  which  they  are  excluded ;  and  Christ  confirms  the 
thought.  They  have  had  their  evil  things,  and  now  they 
will  be  comforted.  They  have  lain  with  the  dogs  at  the  gate 
of  Dives,  and  now  they  will  lie  in  Abraham's  bosom.  Im- 
poverished and  despised,  none  have  regarded  them  ;  but  now 
God  Himself  will  gather  them  in  His  arms  and  heal  the 
wounds  of  life  at  a  touch  and  wipe  away  the  tears  from  off 
all  faces. 

"  There  is  life  with  God, 
In  other  kingdoms  of  a  sweeter  air ; 
In  Eden  every  flower  is  blown." 

Another  principle  which  rules  all  Christ's  thoughts  of  judg- 
ment is  that  punishment  is  not  penal  only  but  remedial. 
Never  was  there  more  monstrous  misconception  than  that 
which  pictures  man  as  eternally  punished,  because  this 
would  mean  in  effect  the  eternal  existence  of  evil — a  thought 
which  Christ  refused  to  contemplate.     The  sole  end  of  pun- 


TEACHINGS  UPON  JUDGMENT      293 

ishment,  when  not  administered  by  the  cruel,  is  amendment 
or  reclamation ;  but  a  punishment  which  is  eternal  either 
means  that  the  sinner  is  incapable  of  reclamation,  or  that  his 
punishment  runs  on  long  after  his  offence  is  purged.  Christ 
never  once  uses  any  language  that  would  lead  us  to  suppose 
that  hypotheses  so  intolerable  as  these  had  ever  crossed  His 
mind.  He  speaks  of  the  unfaithful  servant  as  beaten  with 
few  or  many  stripes,  but  He  certainly  does  not  speak  of  him 
as  endlessly  beaten.  He  speaks  in  the  Sermon  on  the  Mount 
of  one  who  is  in  danger  of  hell-fire  through  his  contempt  for 
his  brother ;  and  then,  by  a  slight  change  of  metaphor,  rep- 
resents the  same  person  as  a  debtor  cast  into  prison,  from 
whence  he  is  not  liberated  till  he  has  paid  "  the  uttermost 
farthing  ";  but  the  inference  is  absolutely  clear  that  in  the 
moment  when  the  last  fraction  of  the  debt  is  paid,  the  man 
will  certainly  come  out  of  hell  or  prison.  And  in  the  solemn 
close  of  the  great  spiritual  drama  of  Dives  and  Lazarus, 
Christ  does  distinctly  represent  the  punishment  of  Dives  as 
remedial,  for  already  he  is  a  better  man  in  hell  than  he  was 
on  earth.  He  has  indeed  made  great  moral  and  spiritual 
advances  since  the  days  when  he  fared  sumptuously,  and 
cared  for  nothing  but  the  pleasures  of  his  own  fastidious 
luxury.  He  has  become  humble,  wise,  magnanimous  ;  hum- 
ble enough  to  appeal  to  Lazarus  for  help ;  wise  enough  to 
know  that  Lazarus  is  a  spirit  moving  at  a  higher  range  than 
his,  who  may  warn  his  brethren  of  their  peril,  though  he 
himself  cannot ;  magnanimous  enough  to  think  of  his  breth- 
ren before  himself,  and  to  pour  out  his  soul  in  agonized  en- 
treaty that  something  may  be  done  to  keep  them  from  the 
anguish  he  endures.  These  are  not  the  characteristics  of  a 
soul  so  evil  that  it  cannot  be  reclaimed ;  nor  can  it  be  con- 
ceived that  a  punishment  that  has  already  wrought  such 
changes  in  the  sufferer  will  not  reach  its  limit,  and  at  last 


294  THE    LIFE    OF   CHRIST 

achieve  its  purpose  in  the  full  purification  of  the  soul. 
Against  conceptions  so  deliberate  and  defined  as  these  it 
would  be  a  childish  folly  to  weigh  an  adjective  or  a  phrase 
of  doubtful  meaning.  The  punishments  of  judgment  were  so 
awful  that  they  justified  the  use  of  the  most  impressive  symbols 
which  the  mind  could  fashion  ;  but  uppermost  in  all  Christ's 
thoughts  is  the  conception  of  all  such  punishments  as  dis- 
ciplinary and  remedial,  and  it  is  hard  to  see  how  any  other 
theory  of  punishment  can  be  consistent  with  the  elementary 
principles  of  justice,  to  say  nothing  of  that  doctrine  of  the 
benignant  Fatherhood  of  God,  which  was  the  keystone  of  all 
Christ's  teaching. 

But  Christ  has  done  much  more  than  enumerate  certain 
principles  of  judgment;  He  declared  Himself  to  be  the 
Judge ;  and  it  therefore  becomes  necessary  to  review  all  His 
teachings  upon  judgment  in  the  light  of  what  we  know  of 
His  own  character  and  temper.  He  conceived  Himself  as 
departing  from  the  world  for  a  season,  and  returning  in 
great  power  and  glory  amid  the  clouds  of  heaven  ;  as  coming 
suddenly,  in  an  hour  when  no  one  looked  for  Him  ;  as  seated 
upon  a  throne,  surrounded  by  His  apostles,  judging  the 
twelve  tribes  of  Israel ;  as  calling  all  nations  to  His  feet, 
and  dividing  the  evil  from  the  good,  as  a  shepherd  divides 
the  sheep  from  the  goats.  Such  grandiose  and  daring 
visions  naturally  suggest  to  the  critic  who  can  see  Jesus  only 
as  a  human  teacher,  a  mind  swept  from  its  balance  and  on 
the  verge  of  madness.  But  we  must  remember  that  in  ;ill 
the  Jewish  legends  of  Messiahship  the  Messiah  is  a  Judge. 
It  was  at  the  call  of  the  Messiah  that  the  valley  of  Jehoso- 
phat  would  be  transformed  into  a  vast  theatre  of  judgment. 
It  was  in  Jerusalem  that  He  would  reign ;  yet  not  the  old 
and  narrow  Jerusalem  which  David  built,  but  a  new  Jerusa- 
lem indeed,  miraculously  expanded,  stretching  from   Joppq, 


TEACHINGS   UPON  JUDGMENT       295 

to  Damascus,  soaring  liigh  among  the  clouds,  the  neighbor 
of  the  morning  stars,  whose  gates  should  be  entire  and  per- 
fect chrysolites,  whose  windows  should  be  precious  gems, 
whose  very  walls  should  be  built  of  stones  of  silver  and 
crowned  with  battlements  of  gold.  This  visionary  city  of 
impossible  Miltonic  splendor, 

"  With  alabaster  domes  and  silver  spires 
And  blazing  terrace  upon  terrace,  high 

Uplifted," 

was  to  become  the  new  and  last  metropolis  of  the  entire 
earth.  Rome  herself,  and  all  the  millions  of  her  empire, 
was  to  come  hither  for  the  Day  of  Judgment,  in  the  hour 
when  the  Messiah  put  the  trumpet  to  His  lips.  Such  were 
the  dreams  and  visions  of  Rabbinic  lore,  and  thus  again 
Jesus  spoke  familiar  language  to  the  Jew  when  He  spoke  of 
Himself  as  Judge.  Bat  in  a  day  when  these  extravagant 
pictures  of  the  Messiah  as  a  Judge  filled  all  minds,  nothing 
is  more  astonishing  than  the  moderation  of  His  language. 
For  He  claims  to  know  neither  the  day  nor  the  hour  of 
judgment — that  is  a  secret  hidden  in  the  mind  of  God.  He 
discourages  discussions  on  the  subject,  and  tells  His  dis- 
ciples that  it  were  wiser  to  seek  themselves  to  enter  in  at  the 
strait  gate  than  to  indulge  in  speculations  as  to  how  many 
shall  be  saved.  And  finally  He  frees  this  idea  of  the  Mes- 
siah as  a  Judge  from  all  these  half-puerile,  half-sublime,  but 
wholly  material  conceptions  which  had  gathered  round  it, 
and  affirms  it  as  a  spiritual  idea.  It  is  not  in  the  valley  of 
Jehosophat  but  at  the  tribunals  of  Eternity  that  men  shall 
be  judged ;  not  by  their  obedience  to  the  law  of  Moses,  but 
to  the  diviner  law  of  love ;  and  the  end  of  this  great  assize 
will  not  be  the  abasement  of  the  Gentile  and  the  exaltation 
of  the  Jew,  but  equal  justice  to  the  whole  world,  irrespective 
of  either  race  or  creed. 


296  THE    LIFE    OF   CHRIST 

It  is  in  the  twenty-fifth  chapter  of  St.  Matthew's  Gospel 
that  we  have  the  fullest  exposition  of  these  ideas.  All  that 
Christ  had  taught  of  social  duty  in  the  parables  of  the  Tal- 
ents, of  the  Unfaithful  Servants,  of  the  Good  Samaritan,  of 
Dives  and  Lazarus,  is  now  summed  up  in  one  great  deliber- 
ate picture  of  the  final  Judgment.  The  Son  of  Man  is  the 
Judge,  no  wrathful  Titau,  no  grandiose  Messiah  throned  on 
clouds  whose  "restless  fronts  bore  stars,"  no  soldier- vindi- 
cator, 'i  with  dreadful  faces  thronged  and  fiery  arms,"  but  a 
Shepherd.  He  is  mild  but  firm,  gentle  yet  unspeakably  au- 
gust. He  bears  the  marks  of  wounds  and  sickness ;  His 
lips  have  thirsted  and  his  heart  has  hungered ;  and  beneath 
the  robes  of  light  which  He  now  wears  can  be  discerned  the 
rags  of  One  who  was  a  beggar,  stained  with  the  foulness  of 
a  prison.  It  is  as  though  Lazarus  himself  came  to  judge  the 
world,  and  Christ  asks  such  questions  as  Lazarus  might 
have  asked  of  a  world  that  had  neglected  him.  "  I  was  an 
hungered ;  who  gave  Me  meat  ?  I  was  thirsty ;  and  who 
gave  Me  drink  ?  I  was  a  stranger ;  and  who  took  Me  in  ?  I 
was  naked ;  and  who  clothed  Me  ?  I  was  sick ;  and  who 
visited  Me  ?  I  was  in  prison  ;  and  who  came  unto  Me  ?  " — 
is  the  strange  appeal  which  the  Judge  makes  to  this  silent, 
awe-struck  audience.  And  then  begins  a  singular  debate, 
suggested  possibly  by  those  profane  contentions  which  the 
Rabbis  represented  as  happening  when  the  Gentiles  stood 
before  the  throne  of  God,  and  found  their  pleas  rejected. 
The  righteous  reply  that  it  is  impossible  that  they  should 
have  done  any  act  of  kindness  to  the  Judge,  for  when  knew 
they  Him  to  be  hungry,  or  thirsty,  or  sick,  or  naked  ?  It  is 
true  that  they  have  often  performed  such  acts  for  the  lowly 
and  the  impoverished,  but  it  does  not  occur  to  them  to  make 
a  boast  or  a  plea  of  these  common  charities  of  life.  The 
beautiful  reply  of  the  Shepherd-Judge  is  that  since  He  is 


TEACHINGS  UPON  JUDGMENT      297 

the  Son  of  Man,  humanity  itself  stands  represented  in  Hirn. 
Acts  of  kindness  done  to  the  least  of  these  "  His  brethren," 
were  done  to  Him.  Unseen  and  unrecognized  He  had  moved 
amid  the  throngs  of  men,  looking  on  them  through  the  eyes 
of  beggarmen  and  lepers,  hungry  for  the  word  of  kindness 
which  was  never  spoken.  This  saying  arouses  the  resent- 
ment of  the  unrighteous,  who  think  themselves  unfairly 
treated.  How  could  they  be  supposed  to  recognize  a  King 
in  rags  ?  How  could  they  be  accused  of  inhospitality  to  a 
King  they  did  not  know  ?  If  they  had  indeed  known  that  it 
was  their  King  who  knocked  on  that  forgotten  day  upon  the 
door  and  asked  for  bread  that  was  refused ;  if  the  least  hint 
had  reached  them  that  the  man  lying  at  the  gate  and  full  of 
sores  was  the  Shepherd-Judge  Himself  disguised  in  a  leper's 
rags — who  so  quick  to  help  as  they  ?  And  again  the  beau- 
tiful reply  comes :  "  Inasmuch  as  ye  did  it  not  to  the  least 
of  these,  ye  did  it  not  to  Me."  Their  very  plea  of  extenuation 
is  their  plainest  condemnation.  It  is  not  by  ostentatious, 
but  by  simple,  unknown,  and  almost  unconscious  acts  of 
kindness,  that  the  true  spirit  of  men  is  revealed.  The  good 
have  done  good,  not  thinking  it  remarkable ;  the  evil  have 
been  hard  of  heart,  not  supposing  that  it  was  observed  : 
can  be  more  striking  than  the  exquisite  surprise  of  the  one, 
the  overwhelming  consternation  of  the  other,  when  it  ap- 
pears that  these  unremembered  acts  of  life  afford  the  data 
by  which  they  will  be  judged.  Once  more  we  see  the  cen- 
tral thought  of  all  Christ's  teaching  laid  bare  :  that  it  is  by 
love  that  men  are  justified  before  their  Maker ;  by  loveless- 
ness  they  judge  themselves  unworthy  of  the  love  of  God.  It 
is  the  Shepherd  who  Himself  loved  the  sheep  who  is  the 
Judge ;  the  book  which  lies  open  before  Him  is  the  book  of 
human  heart ;  the  tribunal  where  men  are  gathered  is  the 
Court  of  Charity. 


298  THE    LIFE    OF   CHRIST 

This  was  the  last  parable  which  Jesus  spoke,  and  in  a  very- 
real  sense  it  is  the  summary  of  all  His  teaching.     It  is  cer- 
tainly the  summary  of  all  His  thoughts  on  judgment.     The 
general  principles  on  which  He  based  His  ideas  of  judgment 
we  have  already  seen ;  this  is  the  revelation  of  the  spirit  of 
the  judgment.     It  is  love  that  reigns  supreme  in  every  word 
and  act.     The  Shepherd-Judge  shows  Himself  eager  to  dis- 
cover the  good  in  men  which  they  themselves  have  forgotten ; 
and  in  making  charity  the  one  test  of  character  He  assures 
every  kind  heart  of  acquittal  in  the  day  when  the  secrets  of 
all  hearts  shall  be  revealed.     This  is  far  from  beiug  a  doc- 
trine acceptable  to  men,  who  perversely  imagine  that  creeds, 
forms  of  faith,  and  rigid  virtues  alone  can  justify  man  before 
his  Maker.     So  little  have  men  learned  of  the  true  spirit  of 
Jesus,  that  even  at  the  present  hour  the  great  majority  of 
Christian  teachers  would  hesitate  to  say  that  a  charitable  life 
is   the   only  true  religion,  or  at  least  would  regard   such  a 
statement  as  perilous  and  misleading.     But  this  is  the  dis- 
tinct teaching  of  Jesus   in  His  final  parable.     And  it  is  in 
entire  consonance  with  His  own  life.     He  habitually  meas- 
ured men  by  their  power  of  love.     If  in  His  frequent  de- 
scriptions of  judgment  He  sometimes  used  the  phrases  com- 
mon to  His  time  which  sound  harsh  and  dreadful,  we  must 
construe  them  by  all  that  we  know  of  His  own  life  and  char- 
acter and  temper.     If  we  can  assure  ourselves  that  Jesus 
Himself  would  never  have  inflicted  hopeless  torture  on  any 
living  soul,  we  may  dismiss  these  phrases  as  delusive.     If 
we  can  further  assure  ourselves  that  the  perfect  love  of  God 
will  control  every  verdict  of  the  Divine  judgments  upon  men, 
we  know  as  much  as  it  is  needful  we  should  know.     Man 
has  reached  the  furthest  point  of  both  faith  and  knowledge 
when  he  can  affirm  of  these  solemn  processes  of  judgment 
"  All's  law,  yet  all's  love," 


TEACHINGS   UPON  JUDGMENT      299 

It  is  little  wonder  that  such  profound  and  novel  teachings 
should  have  changed  the  course  of  human  history.  The 
thought  of  a  final  judgment,  often  clothed  in  solemn  and 
alarming  imagery,  always  appealing  to  the  vital  instincts  of 
the  conscience,  has  done  much  to  purify  and  elevate  the  life 
of  men,  to  open  to  them  a  sublime  range  of  vision  to  invigo- 
rate their  endeavors  after  virtue  and  perfection.  It  has  no 
doubt  been  abused  at  various  times,  and  has  assumed  a  dis- 
proportionate significance.  The  Dies  Lxe — that  hymn  of 
dreadful  ecstasy,  which  rang  so  long  and  loud,  like  a  clash 
of  trumpets,  through  the  churches  and  the  shrines  of  Chris- 
tendom, often  drowned  the  softer  accents  of  the  Good  Shep- 
herd. But  it  at  least  roused  men  to  a  sense  of  immutable 
responsibility  to  God,  and  filled  them  with  wholesome  fear 
lest  they  should  fail  in  duty  to  their  brethren.  No  reform 
of  manners  can  ever  be  achieved  without  a  quickening  of  the 
general  conscience ;  and  no  motive  known  to  man  has  had 
such  efficacy  in  the  quickening  of  conscience  as  the  convic- 
tion that  the  lifting  curtain  of  the  grave  reveals  a  throne  of 
judgment,  where  every  man  must  answer  for  the  deeds  done 
in  the  body.  Jesus,  by  His  teaching,  wrought  into  the  con- 
sciousness of  Europe  this  imperishable  truth.  A  hush  of 
fear  and  awe  fell  upon  the  nations,  as  the  judgment-seat  of 
Christ  possessed  those  heavens,  whence  the  gods  of  Home 
and  Greece  had  fled.  Upon  the  waking  West  there  fell  the 
burning  light  of  Christ,  as  the  sun  shone  upon  the  statue  of 
Memuon,  throned 

"  beneath  the  Libyan  hills, 
Where  spreading  Nile  parts  hundred-gated  Thebes." 

"When  the  first  flame-arrow  of  the  dawn  smote  this  silent 
statue,  a  music  thrilled  from  the  sonorous  stone,  like  the 
snapping  of  some  hidden  string,  and  this  was  thought  to  be 


300  THE    LIFE    OF   CHRIST 

the  voice  of  Memnon  liailing  liis  motlier,  the  New  Day.  So 
the  burning  ray  of  Christ  fell  upon  a  world  sunk  deep  in 
night,  and  the  string  that  clanged  and  broke  through  all  Eu- 
rope was  materialism.  Men  woke  from  sleep  to  find  them- 
selves the  heritors  of  a  more  spacious  universe  than  they 
had  ever  dreamed.  The  day  had  come,  and  from  lip  to  lip 
ran  the  new  and  animating  message,  "It  is  high  time  to 
awake  out  of  sleep.  The  night  is  far  spent,  the  day  is  at 
hand.  Let  us  therefore  cast  off  the  works  of  darkness,  and 
let  us  put  on  the  armor  of  light.     For  the  Lord  is  at  hand !  " 


CHAPTEK  XXn 

THE   RAISING   OF   LAZARUS 

From  His  wanderings  in  Perea  Jesus  is  called  to  the 
neighborhood  of  Jerusalem  by  the  news  of  the  sickness  and 
the  death  of  His  dearest  friend,  Lazarus  of  Bethany.  He 
returns  to  Bethany  with  the  definite  purpose  of  restoring 
Lazarus  to  life.  The  career  of  Jesus  as  a  miracle-worker  is 
now  to  close  in  one  astounding  and  consummating  act.  His 
last  parable  lifts  the  curtain  of  the  world  to  come,  and  re- 
veals man  as  a  creature  of  infinite  destinies  ;  His  last  great 
act  of  miracle  is  to  recall  from  that  unseen  world  one  who 
has  already  met  its  solemn  judgment  and  entered  on  its  new 
and  unimaginable  life. 

The  raising  of  Lazarus  is  generally  esteemed  the  greatest 
miracle  of  Christ ;  it  would  be  more  correct  to  describe  it  as 
His  most  deliberate  miracle,  of  which  we  have  the  most  de- 
tailed description.  In  itself  it  is  not  more  remarkable  than 
the  restoration  to  life  of  the  son  of  the  widow  of  Nain,  re- 
lated by  St.  Luke ;  or  of  the  daughter  of  Jairus  which  was 
considered  so  authentic,  that  it  is  recorded  in  each  of  the 
synoptic  Gospels.  Nor  are  these  previous  miracles  less  de- 
tailed, unless  we  use  detail  as  the  synonym  for  mere  ampli- 
tude of  phrase  and  narrative.  The  great  feature  of  this  last 
miracle  is  its  deliberation ;  in  all  other  respects  it  is  neither 
more  or  less  astonishing  than  previous  miracles.  We  may, 
of  course,  except  the  frequent  miracles  of  healing.  These 
may  be  explained  in  some  degree  by  "the  subtle  co-opera- 
tion of  two  imaginations  and  two  wills,"  and  even  to  the 

301 


302  THE    LIFE    OF   CHRIST 

rationalist  they  are  not  incredible.  It  is  when  we  are  con- 
fronted with  the  raising  of  the  dead  that  all  ordinary  expli- 
cations fail  us.  Here  the  most  devout  mind  may  be  forgiven 
occasional  pangs  of  incredulity. 

The  narrative  is  full  of  special  difficulties  which  no  man 
of  intelligence  can  ignore.  The  most  serious  of  these  diffi- 
culties is  the  silence  of  the  synoptic  Gospels.  How  is  it 
that  John  alone  relates  an  event  of  such  importance  ?  But 
we  may  ask  with  equal  relevance,  how  is  it  that  John  does 
not  relate  the  raising  from  the  dead  of  Jairus's  daughter  ? 
Or,  how  is  it  that  only  Luke  relates  the  touching  and  inimi- 
table story  of  the  restoration  to  life  of  the  only  son  of  the 
widow  of  Nain  ?  Of  all  the  earlier  miracles  of  Jesus  these 
were  by  far  the  most  astounding,  and  were  of  equal  signifi- 
cance ;  we  should  expect  therefore  that  whatever  things  the 
biographer  of  Jesus  would  omit,  these  would  be  precisely 
the  things  that  could  never  be  omitted.  But  the  Evangelists 
did  not  obey  the  ordinary  canons  of  biography.  The  mod- 
ern biographer  would  certainly  begin  his  work  by  collecting 
the  most  remarkable  incidents  in  the  career  of  his  hero,  be- 
cause he  would  know  that  he  could  satisfy  the  public  taste 
and  judgment  in  no  other  way.  But  the  Evangelists  found 
the  whole  life  of  Jesus  so  remarkable  that  they  felt  no  need 
of  such  discrimination.  Each  related  the  events  that  he  best 
remembered,  or  which  were  best  attested  by  the  general 
memory.  Moreover,  there  was  a  good  reason  why  John 
alone  should  record  the  miracle  of  Lazarus,  which  does  not 
apply  to  the  earlier  Evangelists.  John  is  especially  the  his- 
torian of  the  Judean  ministry,  and  of  the  Passion.  Three- 
fourths  of  his  entire  Gospel,  as  we  have  seen,  is  devoted  to 
the  last  six  months  of  the  life  of  Jesus.  He  is  therefore  the 
natural  historian  of  Lazarus,  and  it  is  possible  that  he  shared 
the  friendship  of  the  house  at  Bethany  in  a  degree  not  known 


THE  RAISING  OF  LAZARUS         303 

to  Matthew  or  Peter.  If  we  are  to  proceed  upon  the  princi- 
ple that  only  those  incidents  in  the  life  of  Jesus  are  authen- 
tic which  are  attested  by  more  than  one  Evangelist  we  must 
dismiss  Luke's  story  of  the  widow  of  Nain  as  well  as  John's 
story  of  the  raising  of  Lazarus ;  and  it  is  manifest  that  this 
narrow  principle,  rigidly  applied,  would  delete  from  the 
Scriptures  many  of  the  acts  and  words  of  Jesus  which  the 
world  holds  most  lovely,  most  significant,  and  most  precious 
as  the  food  of  faith. 

A  less  serious,  but  not  unimportant,  difficulty  is  that  in 
the  final  trial  of  Jesus  nothing  is  said  of  this  stupendous  act 
which  almost  immediately  preceded  it.  But  the  same  thing 
may  be  said  of  a  hundred  wonderful  and  benignant  acts  in 
the  life  of  Christ.  We  may  ask  with  equal  surprise  where 
were  the  blind  men  whose  eyes  Christ  had  opened,  the  lame 
men  whom  he  had  cured,  that  not  one  of  them  was  found  in 
the  hall  of  Caiaphas  to  bear  witness  to  his  Benefactor  ?  Two 
notable  miracles  of  this  class  had  been  wrought  under  the 
hostile  eyes  of  the  priests  themselves  in  Jerusalem ;  yet 
neither  the  paralytic  of  the  Pool  of  Bethesda,  nor  the  man 
blind  from  his  birth  whom  the  priests  had  excommunicated, 
appear  either  as  witnesses  or  friends  in  the  last  tragic  scenes, 
when  the  fall  storm  of  ruin  broke  upon  their  Healer.  The 
explanation  is  that  Jesus  was  not  tried  as  a  false  Messiah, 
but  as  a  political  offender.  The  aim  of  the  priests  was  to 
prove  that  He  had  perverted  the  nation,  because  upon  this 
charge  alone  could  they  secure  His  death.  Therefore  they 
had  ceased  to  weigh  the  evidence  for  or  against  His  miracles  ; 
they  had  become  a  matter  of  indifference.  Lazarus  himself, 
had  he  appeared  before  the  Sanhedrim,  would  have  been 
quite  incapable  of  deflecting  a  course  of  judgment  ahead  v 
predetermined,  or  of  altering  by  any  appeal  or  evidence  that  he 
could  offer  a  verdict  which  purposely  ignored  such  evidence, 


304  THE    LIFE    OF   CHRIST 

But  difficulties  based  upon  the  silence  of  the  synoptic 
Gospels,  or  the  absence  of  Lazarus  from  the  trial  of  Jesus, 
are  trivial  compared  with  the  difficulties  which  arise  from  the 
nature  of  the  narrative  itself.  The  plain  question  which 
must  be  met  is,  Is  the  story  true  ?  It  would  be  foolish  to 
reply  that  the  question  is  irreverent  and  inadmissible,  be- 
cause the  whole  story  challenges  criticism,  and  John  shows 
no  disposition  to  evade  this  criticism.  The  apostles  them- 
selves, in  the  far  more  important  matter  of  Christ's  own 
resurrection,  never  imagined  that  their  statements  would  be 
received  without  examination.  St.  Matthew  himself  relates 
that  even  in  that  last  sublime  moment,  when  Jesus  vanished 
into  the  heavens,  "  some  doubted  " ;  and  St.  Paul  argues  at 
length  the  possibility  of  resurrection  with  the  Corinthian 
converts.  Blind  faith  is  as  foolish  as  blind  incredulity.  All 
phenomena,  whatever  the  ultimate  verdict  passed  upon  them, 
must  first  of  all  be  examined  at  the  tribunal  of  the  reason. 
It  is  scarcely  wonderful  that  a  phenomenon  so  astounding  as 
this  should  have  been  examined  with  unusual  severity,  or 
that  men  should  have  sought  any  kind  of  plausible  invention 
which  should  relieve  the  reason  from  accepting  a  story  which 
contradicts  at  every  point  all  the  known  familiar  facts  of 
human  experience. 

Is  this  story  an  invention  ?  John  certainly  shows  himself 
in  his  Apocalypse  capable  of  sublime  powers  of  invention, 
but  they  are  precisely  those  powers  which  are  least  capable 
of  sober  narrative.  If  we  may  use  the  term,  the  Apocalypse 
is  distinguished  by  a  certain  noble  insobriety  of  thought  and 
phrase ;  it  is  a  gorgeous  dream,  behind  whose  veils  move 
the  forms  of  Nero,  as  the  Beast,  and  his  victims,  as  invinci- 
ble protagonists,  struggling  on  a  stage  that  is  set  among  the 
clouds  amid  the  marvels  of  infinity.  But  it  would  require  a 
mind  of  very  different  quality,  infinitely  more  exact  and  deli- 


THE  RAISING  OF  LAZARUS  305 

cate,  to  invent  such  a  narrative  as  this.  With  what  an  ex- 
quisite touch  are  the  characters  of  the  two  sisters  rendered ! 
They  live,  they  move ;  then-  thoughts  are  beautifully  natural 
and  spontaneous ;  they  excite  the  liveliest  pity  and  a  breath- 
less interest.  Nor  are  they  copied  from  the  earlier  portraits 
of  St.  Luke.  It  is  Mary  now  who  remains  disconsolate  and 
crushed  ;  it  is  Martha,  rilled  with  faith,  who  declares  herself 
convinced  that  Jesus  is  the  Son  of  God.  The  character  of 
Thomas  is  also  rendered  with  an  equal  fidelity  to  what  we 
know  of  him  already,  yet  with  the  addition  of  new  elements, 
which  would  certainly  not  have  occurred  to  a  writer  of  fiction. 
Thomas,  hitherto  the  man  of  divided  mind,  is  now  the  hero, 
who  casts  aside  his  hesitations,  and  is  prepared  to  die  with 
Christ.  The  various  emotions  of  Christ  Himself  ;  His  words 
when  the  message  of  the  anxious  sisters  reaches  Him  in 
Perea  ;  His  debate  with  the  disciples  ;  His  conversation  with 
Martha ;  His  outburst  of  sorrow  at  the  grave ;  His  prayer  at 
the  doorway  of  the  tomb — all  these  things  are  conveyed  with 
a  realism,  with  a  firmness  and  fidelity  of  touch,  surely  not 
possible  to  fiction.  We  may  omit  from  consideration  the 
culpability  that  would  attach  to  John  for  passing  off  as  his- 
tory what  was  really  fiction,  and  the  condemnation  of  his 
whole  Gospel  which  such  a  charge  involves,  if  it  be  proven. 
Whether  he  was  morally  capable  of  inventing  such  a  story  is 
not  the  question ;  but  certainly  he  was  intellectually  incapa- 
ble. Whatever  course  our  thoughts  may  take  upon  the 
nature  of  the  story,  it  is  beyond  dispute  that  John  believed 
himself  to  be  narrating  something  that  had  actually  hap- 
pened, and  he  narrates  it  with  a  close  attention  to  the 
sequence  and  probability  of  history,  which  would  be  impos- 
sible in  deliberate  invention. 

Is  the  story  a  parable  ?     This  is  the  ingenious  suggestion 
of  those  who  desire  to  maintain  reverence  for  Christ  while 
20 


306  THE    LIFE    OF   CHRIST 

denying  His  miraculous  power.  The  story  of  the  blind  man 
who  witnessed  before  the  priests,  "  This  one  thing  I  know, 
that  whereas  I  was  blind,  now  I  see,"  is  a  parable  on  the 
saying,  "  I  am  the  Light  of  the  "World."  The  raising  of 
Lazarus  is  a  parable  on  the  greater  saying,  "  I  am  the  Besur- 
rection  and  the  Life."  But  this  is  again  to  credit  John  with 
delicate  powers  of  invention,  of  which  his  other  writings  show 
no  trace.  Moreover,  there  is  not  the  least  suggestion  of  the 
parabolic  form  in  the  narrative.  When  Jesus  narrates  a 
parable  we  are  never  left  in  doubt  as  to  His  intention.  How- 
ever vivid  and  real  may  be  the  picture  which  He  draws,  it  is 
so  clearly  differentiated  from  sober  history  that  the  dullest 
mind  is  not  likely  to  confuse  the  two.  No  one  has  ever  yet 
confused  Shakespeare's  account  ofJ  Hamlet,  or  Goethe's 
dramatic  portraiture  of  Faust,  with  Carlyle's  biography  of 
Frederick  the  Great  or  Macaulay's  history  of  William  of 
Orange.  They  are  totally  unlike ;  one  is  ideally  and  dra- 
matically true,  but  the  other  is  historically  true.  There  is  an 
entire  difference  of  method  which  is  self-evident  even  to  the 
mind  least  accustomed  to  literary  distinctions.  The  same 
difference  is  found  here,  and  it  is  strongly  marked  at  every 
point.  We  have  a  circumstantial  narrative  of  the  events 
which  led  Jesus  to  return  from  Perea  to  Bethany ;  of  His 
own  thoughts  and  the  thoughts  of  the  disciples  ;  of  the  hopes 
and  feelings  of  the  bereaved  sisters  who  await  the  coming  of 
Christ ;  besides  an  exact  portraiture  of  the  sisters  themselves, 
who  are  already  known  figures  in  the  Gospel  history.  The 
only  ground  for  this  suggestion  seems  to  be  that  since  Christ 
once  framed  a  parable  about  a  beggar  who  was  called  Laz- 
arus, this  story  may  be  a  continuation  of  the  parable,  since 
it  also  concerns  a  man  called  Lazarus  !  The  suggestion  is 
puerile  in  the  extreme  and  is  unworthy  of  its  authors,  as  it  is 
unworthy  of  the  attention  of  any  thinking  man. 


THE  RAISING  OF  LAZARUS  307 

The  difficulties  become  yet  greater  when  it  is  suggested 
that  what  happened  at  Bethany  was  an  elaborate  drama  ar- 
ranged by  the  collusion  of  the  friends  of  Jesus,  and  with  the 
tacit  approval  of  Jesus  Himself.  For  we  may  ask  what  need 
was  there  to  plan  a  false  miracle,  when  already  even  the  ene- 
mies of  Jesus  had  believed  that  they  had  witnessed  true 
miracles  ?  Jesus  was  already  credited  with  the  power  of 
raising  the  dead.  The  stories  of  Jairus's  daughter  and  of 
the  son  of  the  widow  of  Nain  were  widely  known.  It  could 
add  nothing  to  His  reputation  to  perform  a  similar  act  at 
Bethany.  Besides,  if  this  narrative  is  to  be  treated  as  his- 
tory at  all,  it  is  clear  that  the  miracle  was  wrought  in  the 
presence  of  numerous  spectators,  among  whom  were  many 
Jews  from  Jerusalem,  who  were  intensely  hostile  to  Christ. 
They  would  surely  know  whether  Lazarus  were  really  dead 
or  not.  They  were  not  likely  to  be  deceived  by  a  plot  which 
wrapped  the  still  living  Lazarus  in  grave-clothes,  gave  him  a 
mock  funeral,  and  arranged  his  grave  as  the  theatre  of  a 
clumsy  fraud.  We  are  told  that  many  Jews,  when  they  saw 
the  act  that  Jesus  did,  believed  on  Him ;  and  the  first  ques- 
tion of  the  Pharisees  when  they  subsequently  called  a  coun- 
cil to  plan  His  death,  was,  "What  do  we?  For  this  man 
doeth  many  miracles.  If  we  let  Him  thus  alone  all  men  will 
believe  on  Him,  and  the  Romans  shall  come  and  take  away 
both  our  place  and  nation."  Had  the  friends  of  Jesus  been 
capable  of  arranging  a  sham  miracle,  arguing  that  the  end 
justified  the  means,  the  last  place  they  would  have  chosen 
would  have  been  the  immediate  neighborhood  of  Jerusalem, 
the  last  audience  they  would  have  invited  to  the  scene  would 
have  been  the  acute  and  hostile  Jews  of  Jerusalem,  and  the 
last  actors  in  the  drama  would  have  been  persons  so  well 
known  as  Martha,  Mary,  and  Lazarus. 

But  criticism  cannot  stop  at  this  point.     Even  if  it  were 


308  THE    LIFE    OF   CHRIST 

possible  to  accept  this  explanation  and  to  pardon  the  ill- 
judged  zeal  of  the  friends  of  Jesus,  we  have  to  ask  what  we 
are  to  think  of  Jesus  Himself  as  the  chief  actor  in  this  drama 
of  deceit?  Either  He  was  successfully  imposed  upon  by 
His  friends,  and  thought  He  had  raised  the  dead  when  He 
had  not,  or  He  connived  in  their  deliberate  fraud  and  pre- 
tended to  restore  life  to  a  man  who  was  not  really  dead  at 
all.  In  either  case  the  character  of  Christ  is  gone.  He  be- 
comes a  charlatan  who  imposes  on  Himself  and  others.  The 
purity,  the  loftiness,  the  sincerity  of  His  character  has  re- 
ceived a  stain  which  is  indelible.  The  worst  fate  that  the 
Sanhedrim  can  visit  on  Him  is  deserved :  for  He  is  mani- 
festly one  who  "  deceived  the  people."  Nor  is  extenuation 
possible.  It  is  little  short  of  blasphemy  to  plead,  as  M. 
Eenan  does,  that  "  in  this  dull  and  impure  city  of  Jerusalem, 
Jesus  was  no  longer  Himself ;  His  conscience  had  lost  some- 
thing of  its  original  purity  ;  He  suffered  the  miracles  opinion 
demanded  of  Him  rather  than  performed  them."  Surely  it 
is  a  siugular  obtuseness  of  both  mind  and  conscience  which 
forbids  the  inventor  of  such  a  theory  from  discerning  that 
the  entire  ministry  of  Christ  has  crumbled  into  ruin,  if  such 
things  be  true.  Nor  does  the  narrator  of  the  story  stand  in 
much  better  case  than  Jesus  Himself.  John  must  have  been 
aware  of  the  fraud.  Even  if  it  could  have  been  successfully 
concealed  from  the  multitude,  it  must  have  been  fully  known 
to  that  inner  circle  of  Christ's  friends  to  whom  John  be- 
longed. He  knew  when  he  lay  upon  the  bosom  of  Jesus  at 
the  Last  Supper  that  he  lay  upon  the  bosom  of  a  man  who 
had  deceived  him.  He  knew  when  he  wrote  the  great  pro- 
legomena of  his  Gospel,  declaring  Jesus  the  Eternal  Word, 
that  he  made  that  immeasurable  claim  for  an  impostor.  He 
knew  when  he  painted  the  closing  scenes  of  tragedy  through 
which  Christ  passes  with  superb  innocence  to  a  Cross  from 


THE  RAISING  OF  LAZARUS  309 

which  He  forgave  others,  that  He  was  not  innocent,  that  He 
deserved  His  fate,  that  He  Himself  needed  forgiveness  from 
a  world  He  had  misled.  And  he  knew  when  he  denounced 
Judas  that  he  was  denouncing  the  one  disciple  who  had  taken 
a  sane  and  rational  view  of  Jesus.  But  it  is  needless  to  un- 
wind further  this  tangled  skein  of  impossibilities  and  absurdi- 
ties. As  the  story  of  the  raising  of  Lazarus  is  clearly  not 
an  invention  or  a  parable,  so  it  cannot  have  been  a  triumph 
of  collusion.  Of  all  the  theories  put  forward  by  the  critic- 
apologists  of  Jesus,  this  is  the  most  unworthy,  the  most  ab- 
surd, and  the  least  tenable. 

Let  us  turn,  then,  to  the  story  itself,  as  a  piece  of  authen- 
tic history,  and  examine  it  for  ourselves. 

It  commences  with  a  singularly  lifelike  sketch  of  the  con- 
duct of  Jesus  and  of  His  disciples.  He  is  practically  an  ex- 
ile in  Perea,  warned  out  of  Judea  by  the  violence  of  His  ene- 
mies ;  yet  no  sooner  does  the  news  reach  Him  of  the  sick- 
ness of  His  friend  than  He  immediately  resolves  upon  return. 
The  disciples  are  naturally  averse  from  encountering  this 
peril.  They  understand  from  the  enigmatic  words  which 
Jesus  first  uses  that  Lazarus  has  been  sick  and  is  recovering ; 
he  is  asleep  and  will  do  well.  Jesus  alone  knows  the  real 
truth,  which  He  presently  reveals,  telling  them  plainly  that 
Lazarus  is  dead.  The  disciples  naturally  see  in  this  a  good 
reason  for  not  returning  to  Judea.  If  Lazarus  is  dead  it  can 
serve  no  purpose  for  Christ  to  expose  Himself  to  certain 
peril,  for  He  can  do  no  good  at  Bethany.  They  count  as 
obstinacy  the  resolve  to  return,  and  Thomas  alone  plays  the 
hero,  crying  in  a  passion  of  noble,  despairing  love,  "  Let  us 
also  go,  that  we  may  die  with  Him."  It  has  occurred  to 
none  of  them  that  Jesus  may  have  formed  the  design  of  rais- 
ing Lazarus  from  the  dead.  But  in  the  mind  of  Jesus  this 
design  is  already  settled.     He  communicates  it  by  degrees 


310  THE    LIFE    OF   CHRIST 

to  His  disciples.  He  tells  tliein  that  He  goes  to  awake  Laz- 
arus out  of  sleep ;  that  He  is  glad  for  their  sakes  that  He 
was  not  present  when  Lazarus  died ;  that  what  He  is  about 
to  do  is  for  the  encouragement  of  their  belief.  In  the  two 
previous  instances  of  restoration  from  the  dead,  it  is  notice- 
able that  the  shadow  of  death  had  scarcely  fallen  before  it 
was  withdrawn.  The  child  of  Jairus  was  scarcely  dead  when 
Jesus  entered  the  house,  and  her  soul  yet  hovered  on  the 
borderland  of  life.  The  dead  man  at  the  gate  of  Nain  was 
but  a  few  hours  dead ;  for  in  the  East  burial  follows  instantly 
upon  decease.  There  was  at  least  some  room  in  both  these 
cases  for  the  suspicion  that  death  was  not  real,  and  Christ's 
own  words  about  the  child  of  Jairus  suggest  that  she  was  in 
a  trance.  Perhaps  the  disciples,  ever  prone  to  unbelief,  had 
encouraged  these  suspicions  in  themselves ;  and  this  is  why 
Jesus  laid  stress  upon  the  reinvigoration  of  belief  which  will 
come  to  them  in  the  act  He  is  about  to  do  in  the  cavern- 
grave  of  Lazarus.  He  will  not  leave  Perea  till  the  certainty 
of  the  actual  death  and  funeral  of  Lazarus  is  put  beyond 
question.  For  two  days — days  of  silence  and  awful  medita- 
tion, he  remains  "in  the  same  place  where  He  was."  With 
doubtful  and  astonished  eyes  the  disciples  watch  Him,  pale 
with  the  ecstasy  of  His  own  thoughts,  withdrawn  in  the  sol- 
emn hope  and  agony  of  prayer,  passing  in  and  out  among 
them  as  a  spirit,  His  heart  far  away  in  the  grave  of  Lazarus, 
His  soul  pleading  with  His  Father  for  the  restoration  of  the 
man  He  loved.  Then,  on  the  third  day,  His  voice  calls  them 
at  the  dawn.  In  a  kind  of  stupor  they  arise  and  follow  Him, 
and  know  not,  as  they  pass  along  the  desert  road,  that  they 
march  in  the  triumphal  procession  of  One  who  is  the  Resur- 
rection and  the  Life. 

In  the  meantime,  at  Bethany,  other  scenes  are  happening 
which  afford  an  equally  vivid  glimpse  into  the  characters  of 


THE  RAISING  OF  LAZARUS  311 

the  bereaved  sisters.  Both  sisters  share  the  futile  and  now 
inexpressibly  painful  conviction,  that  if  Jesus  had  been  there 
Lazarus  had  not  died.  They  cannot  understand  His  strange 
delay.  They  supposed  that  the  moment  He  had  heard  of  the 
sickness  of  His  friend  He  would  have  hastened  to  his  couch ; 
for  the  knew  Him  well  enough  to  know  that  He  would  scorn 
danger  at  the  call  of  love.  They  wait  in  vain,  scanning  with 
tearful  eyes  the  long  road  that  winds  downward  from  Beth- 
any to  Jericho  and  the  distant  fords  of  Jordan.  Their 
messenger  returns  with  not  so  much  as  a  hopeful  word  from 
Jesus.  Mary,  crushed  and  broken-spirited,  watches  in  the 
cool  of  the  eve  from  the  palm-clad  slopes  of  Bethany  for  the 
Friend  who  does  not  come.  At  last  the  morning  breaks 
when  all  is  over.  The  grey  light  falls  upon  the  rigid  face  of 
Lazarus.  The  irretrievable  calamity  has  come.  There  is 
nothing  left  but  the  last  sad  rites,  the  long  farewells,  and 
then  the  dead  man,  on  his  open  bier,  is  carried  to  his  tomb, 
and  the  stone  is  rolled  across  the  doorway.  All  thought  of 
help  from  Jesus  is  now  at  an  end.  They  can  only  think  of 
Him  with  the  tender,  sad  resentment  of  women  disappointed 
in  their  hero.  They,  no  more  than  the  disciples,  have  the 
least  thought  that  all  this  bitterness  of  loss  and  of  delay  is 
but  the  darkened  stage  on  which  will  enter,  at  His  own  hour, 
the  Prince  of  Life. 

If  any  spark  of  hope  yet  burned,  it  was  in  the  bosom  of 
Mary.  We  find  her  a  little  later  on  possessed  of  a  great 
store  of  ointment  of  spikenard,  very  precious,  with  which  she 
anointed  the  feet  of  Jesus.  Was  this  the  ointment  which  she 
had  purchased  for  the  last  anointing  of  her  brother  ?  The 
final  act  in  the  sad  drama  of  a  Jewish  death  was  the  anoint- 
ing in  the  tomb.  It  was  for  the  purposes  of  anointing  or 
embalmment  that  the  women  came  to  the  tomb  of  Christ 
Himself  on  the  morning  of  the  third  day.     But  there  are 


312  THE    LIFE    OF   CHRIST 

features  in  this  narrative  which  suggest  that  this  last  anoint- 
ing of  the  body  of  Lazarus  in  the  tomb  had  been  postponed, 
as  though  in  obedience  to  some  fugitive,  incoherent,  half-in- 
telligible hope  that  there  was  yet  something  to  occur  that  eye 
had  not  seen,  nor  ear  heard,  nor  the  heart  of  man  conceived. 
Well  might  Mary  sit  still  in  the  house,  listening  with  awe  to 
these  vague  whispers  of  her  heart,  which  she  dared  not  com- 
municate to  her  less  imaginative  sister.  She  held  the  vase 
of  precious  spikenard  in  her  trembling  hands.  She  knew 
the  sombre  duty  that  the  hour  demanded  of  her,  and  yet  she 
could  not  do  it.  Her  mysterious  reluctance  was  not  based 
on  reason.  That  Lazarus  was  truly  dead  she  could  not 
question.  She  herself  had  looked  upon  and  shared  all  those 
significant  and  sad  rites  which  attend  a  Jewish  funeral. 
She  had  seen  the  body  wrapped  in  the  finest  linen,  the  hair 
cut,  and  salt  sprinkled  on  the  silent  breast.  She  had  seen 
the  sacred  cloths  which  had  contained  the  copy  of  the  law 
which  the  dead  man  had  used,  laid  with  him  on  the  bier,  or 
wound  around  the  body.  She  had  seen  his  friends  enter  one 
by  one,  to  stoop  above  the  corpse,  and  take  their  leave  of  it, 
with  the  touching  benediction,  "  Depart  in  peace."  She  had 
heard  the  chorus  of  the  dead  sung,  his  funeral  oration  ut- 
tered either  in  the  house  or  on  the  way  to  the  tomb,  and  the 
wailing  of  the  death-flutes  was  ever  in  her  ears.  She  had 
stood  trembling  in  the  doorway  of  the  cavern,  and  had  seen 
in  the  dim  and  awful  gloom  that  white-robed  eifigy,  prone 
and  silent,  that  was  once  a  living  man.  And  yet  she  could 
not  bring  herself  to  think  that  the  drama  of  her  grief  and 
loss  was  really  over.  She  shrank  from  the  performance  of 
an  act  which  locked  the  last  door  upon  reluctant  hope.  Un- 
embalmed  and  unanointed  Lazarus  slept  within  his  tomb, 
and  Mary  kept  her  precious  ointment  of  spikenard  against 
another  burial. 


THE  RAISING  OF  LAZARUS  313 

Then  at  last  Jesus  comes — alas  !  too  late,  think  both  the 
sisters.  The  news  flies  from  lip  to  lip  that  already  He  has 
been  discerned,  surrounded  by  His  Galilean  friends,  moving 
slowly  up  the  long  hill-road  that  leads  to  Bethany.  Martha, 
with  her  characteristic  energy,  is  on  her  feet  at  once,  and 
goes  out  to  meet  Him.  It  is  she,  once  so  cumbered  with  her 
household  cares  that  she  made  but  a  restless  listener  to 
Christ's  discourses,  who  now  rises  to  the  loftiest  heights  of 
faith.  She  cannot  forbear  the  tender  natural  reproach, 
"  Lord,  if  thou  hadst  been  here,  my  brother  had  not  died  ; " 
but  it  is  followed  instantly  by  a  confession  of  adoring  faith, 
not  less  remarkable  than  Peter's  at  Csesarea  Philippi  :  "  But 
I  know  that  even  now,  whatsoever  thou  wilt  ask  of  God,  God 
will  give  it  Thee."  Mary  soon  joins  her  sister,  repeating 
her  reproach ;  she  is  dissolved  in  tears  and  can  scarce  speak 
at  all.  The  mourners  for  the  dead  are  with  her,  beating  on 
their  breasts,  weeping,  and  uttering  cries  of  clamorous  grief. 
Jesus  is  overwhelmed  before  this  outburst  of  sorrowful  re- 
proach and  agonized  lamentation.  He  cannot  bring  Himself 
to  enter  the  house  where  Lazarus  has  died.  He  thinks  of 
all  the  happy  hours  spent  beneath  the  roof  of  this  hospitable 
house,  now  made  desolate,  and  He  weeps  with  those  who 
weep.  He  overhears  the  whisper  of  the  crowd,  half-ironical, 
half-appreciative,  "  Could  not  this  man,  who  opened  the  eyes 
of  the  blind,  have  caused  that  even  this  man  should  not  have 
died  ?  "  But  amid  all  this  dismay  of  the  mourning  crowd, 
all  the  tender  agitation  of  His  own  mind,  He  holds  to  His 
deliberate  purpose,  of  which  He  alone  knows  the  secret.  He 
asks  to  see  the  grave.  The  Jews  suppose  that  He  would 
fain  weep  there  for  the  man  He  loved.  He  reaches  it,  and 
asks  that  the  stone  may  be  rolled  away.  Even  then  the 
sublime  conjecture  is  not  born  in  the  hearts  of  the  onlookers, 
that  a  thing  miraculous  and  unimagined  is  about  to  happen. 


314  THE    LIFE    OF   CHRIST 

Martha  herself  protests  against  what  seems  a  vain  and  pain- 
ful act  of  desecration.  She  shrinks  from  the  too  lively  pic- 
ture which  her  sad  imagination  paints  of  this  sacred  corpse, 
unanointed,  unembalmed,  soiled  with  all  the  dishonors  of 
the  grave,  suddenly  dragged  forth  into  the  insolent  light  of 
day.  But  even  while  she  speaks  her  heart  stands  still  in 
mute  suspense  and  dreadful  expectation.  Jesus  stands  in 
the  doorway  of  the  cavern-tomb  and  prays.  His  voice  swells 
into  a  deepening  note  of  triumph  :  "  Father,  I  thank  Thee 
that  Thou  hast  heard  Me,  and  I  know  that  Thou  nearest  Me 
always."  For  a  moment  there  is  silence  that  may  be  felt,  as 
of  a  waiting  world.  Then,  in  a  loud  voice,  He  cries,  "  Laz- 
arus, come  forth !  "  And  in  the  tomb  there  is  a  stir,  a  move- 
ment, a  sudden  shock  of  life ;  and  in  the  crowd  a  breathless 
horror.  And  he  that  was  dead  came  forth,  bound  hand  and 
foot  with  grave-clothes,  and  his  face  was  bound  about  with  a 
napkin.  Jesus  saith  unto  them,  "  Loose  him,  and  let  him  go." 
It  is  in  vain  to  seek  for  explanation  of  an  act  which  tran- 
scends all  human  reason  and  experience.  The  difficulties  of 
belief  are  great,  but  assuredly  the  difficulties  of  disbelief  are 
greater  still.  Were  reason  and  experience  our  sole  guides, 
we  should  have  no  choice  but  to  disbelieve ;  but  what  are 
reason  and  experience  but  finite  instruments,  incapable  of 
measuring  forces  which  are  infinite  ?  What  is  man  himself 
but  a  creature  incompletely  fashioned,  set  amid  the  rushing 
splendors  of  a  universe,  which  baffle  and  amaze  him,  and 
perpetually  affirm  his  own  incompetence  of  apprehension? 
We  have  also  to  recall  that  impression  of  abnormal  and  sub- 
lime power  in  Jesus,  which  haunts  the  mind  from  the  begin- 
ning of  His  history ;  the  sense  of  expanding  deity  which 
filled  His  friends  with  awe ;  the  growing  energy  of  spiritual 
life,  piercing  through  the  folds  of  flesh  like  a  powerful  flame, 
until  at  last  the  body  and  its  limitations  seem  dissolved  in 


THE  RAISING  OF  LAZARUS  315 

some  higher  potency  of  life.  The  miraculous  energies  of 
Jesus,  ever  growing  stronger,  are  conditioned  by  the  spiritual 
energies  of  His  existence,  which  also  are  in  the  process  of  a 
daily  growth.  He  who  had  already  called  Himself  the  Life 
does  but  complete  His  definition  of  Himself,  when  He  de- 
clares at  the  spoliated  grave  of  Lazarus,  "  I  am  the  Resur- 
rection and  the  Life." 

Measured  in  the  scales  of  human  reason,  dissolved  in  the 
crucible  of  human  experience,  man  must  evermore  affirm  this 
act  impossible,  and  therefore  quite  incredible ;  judged  by 
what  we  know  of  Christ,  the  act  is  both  possible  and  credi- 
ble. Man  may  be  forgiven  his  obstinate  and  mournful 
doubts,  when  he  reflects  upon  the  long  uniformity  of  decay 
and  dissolution ;  the  silence  that  weighs  upon  the  grave ; 
the  voiceless  void  into  which  all  the  units  of  the  human  race 
sink,  one  by  one,  extinguished.  But  if  the  story  of  Jesus  is 
historical  at  all,  that  story  does  unquestionably  present  us 
with  One  who  was  not  as  ordinary  men,  from  whom  we  may 
expect  actions  which  are  not  found  in  ordinary  experience 
It  is  the  verdict  which  we  pass  on  Christ  Himself  which 
must  govern  all  the  lesser  verdicts  which  we  pass  upon  His 
actions.     Browning's  question — 

• '  Can  a  mere  man  do  this  ?  " 

admits  of  but  one  reply.  Browning  also,  in  his  great  analysis 
of  this  very  story,  gives  the  clue  to  the  one  way  in  which  it 
can  be  received : 

"So,  the  All-Great  were  the  All-Loving  too — 

So,  through  the  thunder  comes  a  human  voice 

Saying,  '  0  heart  I  made,  a  heart  beats  here  ! 
Face,  my  hands  fashioned,  see  it  in  myself ! 

Thou  hast  no  power,  nor  may'st  conceive  of  mine ; 
But  love  I  gave  thee,  with  myself  to  love, 

And  thou  must  love  me  who  have  died  for  thee  ! ' " 


31G  THE    LIFE    OF   CHRIST 

In  other  words,  it  is  according  to  the  measure  in  which  we 
see  the  Divine  in  Jesus  that  His  miracles  become  credible. 
It  is  not  the  miracle  that  proves  Him  Divine ;  it  is  His  di- 
vinity that  proves  the  miracle. 

On  that  sacred  night  at  Bethany  it  was  not  Lazarus  alone 
who  was  recovered  from  the  grave,  but  the  world  itself.  The 
gates  of  death  rolled  back,  and  the  human  race  beheld  itself 
incredibly  ransomed  and  redeemed  from  destruction.  The 
feast  of  life  and  hope  was  spread  in  those  chambers,  erst- 
while filled  with  the  symbols  of  immutable  decay,  hung  with 
the  mournful  trappings  of  corruption.  The  words  spoken  in 
Bethany  have  reverberated  through  the  world.  Besides  a 
million  graves  the  mourners  of  the  dead  have  heard  the  gen- 
tle and  commanding  Voice  which  has  declared  "  I  am  the 
Resurrection  and  the  Life ! "  A  beautiful  Hebrew  legend 
describes  the  grave  as  the  place  where  two  worlds  meet  and 
kiss.  Two  worlds  met  at  the  grave  of  Lazarus :  the  world 
of  the  flesh,  dishonored,  humiliated,  reconciled  to  the  shame 
of  inevitable  death ;  the  world  of  the  spirit,  delivered  from 
all  mortal  trammels,  throbbing  with  a  deathless  energy,  con- 
scious of  the  potency  of  life  eternal.  At  the  kiss  of  Christ 
the  new  sweet  vigor  of  immortality  poured  itself  into  the 
frozen  veins  of  a  world  that  lay  upon  its  bier.  The  scene  is 
commemorated,  is  re-enacted,  beside  every  grave  where  eyes, 
blind  with  tears,  are  suddenly  illumined  by  the  vision  of  the 
spirit  which  hovers  pure  and  glad  above  the  mortal  raiment 
it  has  cast  aside.  But  one  more  act  was  needed  to  assure 
the  world  that  it  was  not  deceived  by  fancied  hopes ;  it  was 
that  Jesus  Himself  should  put  off  the  body  of  corruption, 
and  should  appear  as  One  alive  for  evermore.  This  also 
was  to  come ;  and  with  it  came  the  last  and  noblest  defini- 
tion of  life  itself :  "  I  live,  yet  not  I,  but  Christ  liveth  in 
me. 


CHAPTEK  XXHI 

THE   LAST   RETREAT  AND   THE   RETURN 

"  If  ye  believe  not  Moses  and  the  prophets,  neither  will 
ye  believe  though  one  rose  from  the  dead,"  said  Jesus,  at  the 
close  of  the  great  spiritual  drama  of  Dives,  and  His  words 
found  a  sad  vindication  in  the  events  which  immediately  fol- 
lowed His  miracle  at  Bethany.  The  theorist,  better  ac- 
quainted with  the  movements  of  the  philosophic  mind  than 
with  the  coarse  characteristics  of  average  human  nature, 
would  certainly  suppose  that  in  raising  Lazarus  Jesus  com- 
pleted the  edifice  of  His  fame.  Henceforth  He  should  have 
been  sacred  and  inviolable.  The  world  should  have  turned  in 
awe  and  gratitude  to  One  possessed  of  such  astounding  pow- 
ers. Never  again  should  it  have  been  possible  to  question 
His  authority,  or  the  reality  of  the  spiritual  universe  which 
He  revealed.  Again  and  again  men  have  declared  that  all 
they  needed  to  attain  absolute  faith  in  the  existence  of  a 
spiritual  universe  is  that  one  should  be  raised  from  the  dead. 
They  would  be  content  with  even  less ;  with  an  authentic  ap 
parition,  with  a  ghost,  with  some  bright  phantom,  gliding 
upward  from  the  grave,  whom  the  sense  should  recognize  as 
identic  with  the  human  form  that  had  known  the  pangs  of 
dissolution.  But  the  close  observer  of  ordinary  human  na- 
ture knows  too  well  that  these  are  but  the  fond  illusions  of 
the  sentimentalist.  Men  in  general  are  invincibly  hostile  to 
the  miraculous.  The  best  authenticated  ghost-story  leaves 
no  impression  on  the  general  mind.  The  possessor  of  ab- 
normal powers  excites  not  gratitude,  but  detestation,  which 

317 


318  THE    LIFE    OF   CHRIST 

soon  translates  itself  in  active  methods  of  repression.  The 
alchemist  and  the  necromancer  have  always  lived  hunted 
lives.  History  assures  us  in  a  thousand  instances  that  men 
refuse  to  tolerate  in  others  extraordinary  powers  which  they 
themselves  do  not  possess ;  and  the  possession  of  those 
powers,  whether  real  or  false,  have  often  proved  fatal  to  their 
possessors. 

In  view  of  these  truths  of  observation,  we  need  scarcely 
be  surprised  to  find  that  the  miracle  at  Bethany,  so  far  from 
helping  Christ  with  His  inveterate  foes,  really  intensified 
their  hatred,  and  precipitated  His  own  death.  The  miracle 
was  much  discussed,  and  Bethany  became  the  shrine  of 
many  pilgrimages.  In  the  Temple  courts  and  the  bazaars  of 
Jerusalem  little  else  was  talked  about.  Day  by  day  the  road 
to  Bethany  was  thronged  with  hosts  of  curious  visitors,  who 
sought  the  cavern-tomb  where  Lazarus  had  been  interred,  or 
even  looked  upon  the  man  raised  up  by  Christ,  and  listened 
to  his  tale.  No  one  doubted  that  the  miracle  had  really 
taken  place,  not  even  the  priests  and  Pharisees  themselves. 
But  to  these  bitter  zealots,  the  truer  the  tale,  the  mere  difficult 
either  to  discredit  or  suppress  it,  the  stronger  grew  their 
animosity  to  Jesus.  They  soon  became  thoroughly  alarmed 
by  the  growing  agitation  of  the  popular  mind.  It  seemed  as 
though  Jesus  would  triumph  after  all,  and  they  were  well 
aware  that  His  triumph  would  mean  their  downfall.  Some 
broader  considerations  of  policy  mingled  with  these  petty 
fears.  The  nation  itself  existed  in  a  state  of  difficult  equilib- 
rium. The  least  popular  disturbance  might  prove  fatal  to 
the  last  remains  of  nationality,  by  provoking  the  Eomans  to 
measures  of  retaliation.  Among  a  people  profoundly  fanat- 
ical any  agitation  of  the  general  mind  was  to  be  deprecated, 
for  it  was  certain  to  find  an  issue  in  some  kind  of  revolu- 
tionary movement.     Hence  personal  hatred  and  political  ne- 


LAST  RETREAT  AND  RETURN   319 

cessities  worked  together  for  the  overthrow  of  Jesus.  Laz- 
arus himself  was  in  danger ;  St.  John  tells  us  that  the  chief 
priests  sought  to  kill  him.  How  much  more  ardently  would 
they  seek  to  kill  the  Man  who  had  raised  him  from  the  dead, 
in  the  hope  that  by  such  a  crime  they  would  crush  a  move- 
ment that  had  now  become  a  peril  to  the  whole  existing 
order  of  society? 

It  is  of  importance  to  understand  this  policy  of  the  priests 
because  it  affords  us  the  key  to  all  the  subsequent  events  in 
the  career  of  Jesus.  Hateful  as  it  appears  when  thus  baldly 
stated,  yet  it  is  a  policy  common  to  politicians  and  diplomat- 
ists, who  govern  men  by  astuteness  rather  than  by  principle, 
or  whose  only  fixed  principle  is  the  dogged  conservatism 
which  defends  at  all  costs  an  existing  order.  To  such  men  the 
greatest  of  all  perils  is  the  spread  of  new  ideas.  If  in  such  acts 
of  suppression  wrongs  are  wrought,  they  are  defended  as  neces- 
sary to  the  safety  of  the  nation.  Acts  of  cruelty  and  injustice 
to  individuals  are  justified  by  the  welfare  of  the  greatest  num- 
ber. Political  necessity  is  pleaded  for  the  sacrifice  of  heroes. 
We  have  no  reason  to  suppose  that  the  great  governors  and  sol- 
diers who  have  carried  out  crusades  of  extermination,  at  the 
bidding  of  reactionary  Governments,  nor  indeed  the  individ- 
uals who  composed  such  Governments,  were  themselves  men 
of  abnormal  cruelty ;  nor  need  we  accuse  the  Jewish  priests 
of  an  extraordinary  wickedness.  They  simply  reasoned  as 
the  members  of  the  Inquisition  reasoned — themselves  often 
men  of  admirable  virtues — when  they  supposed  they  did 
God  service  in  the  barbarous  suppression  of  all  heretics. 
No  power  known  to  man  is  so  capable  of  turning  men  of 
virtue  into  wolves  and  tigers  as  the  plea  of  political  or  re- 
ligious necessity.  Henceforth,  to  the  close  of  Christ's  life, 
He  is  the  victim  of  this  supposed  necessity.  The  question 
of  the  wisdom,  truth,  or  value  of  His  message  will  no  more 


320  THE    LIFE    OF    CHRIST 

be  discussed   in  the  conclave  of  the  priests.     He  must  be 
crushed,  aud  the  only  question  is  by  what  means. 

The  exponent  of  this  policy  was  Caiaphas,  the  supreme 
Pontiff  of  the  Jewish  faith.  Immediately  upon  the  news  of 
the  miracle  at  Bethany,  the  Sanhedrim  was  summoned.  The 
Sanhedrim  was  a  kind  of  sacred  college,  analogous  to  a  con- 
clave of  cardinals  of  the  Roman  Church,  meeting  usually  in 
a  chamber  of  the  Temple,  but  on  special  occasions  in  the 
house  of  the  Pontiff  himself.  Let  us  picture  this  august 
gathering.  On  the  very  evening  of  the  day  of  the  miracle, 
or  at  latest  on  the  following  day,  messages  were  sent  to  the 
various  members  of  the  Sanhedrim,  who  were  informed  that 
a  question  of  urgency  was  to  be  debated.  One-third  of  the 
assembly  consisted  of  priests,  one-third  of  elders  who  repre- 
sented  the  laity,  and  the  rest  of  scribes  and  lawyers.  Each 
was  a  person  of  dignity ;  all  were  wealthy.  The  greatest 
figure  in  this  ruling  hierarchy  was  Annas,  or  Hanan,  a  for- 
mer Pontiff,  who  had  been  deposed  by  the  Romans.  He  had 
nevertheless  maintained  his  authority,  though  out  of  office, 
and  upon  him,  more  than  on  any  other  man,  rests  the  odium 
of  the  death  of  Jesus.  Caiaphas  was  his  son-in-law,  and  a 
much  weaker  man  than  Hanan.  It  was  notorious  that  Hanan 
was  the  power  behind  the  pontifical  throne,  Caiaphas  being 
in  all  things  his  obedient  mouthpiece. 

Caiaphas  had  already  resolved  upon  his  policy.  Although 
he  was  in  truth  but  nominal  High  Priest,  yet  he  was  regarded 
with  the  utmost  reverence  for  the  sake  of  his  office.  When 
he  entered  the  Sanhedrim  all  eyes  were  fixed  on  him  as  the 
infallible  representative  of  God.  He  wore  uj^on  his  breast 
the  sacred  symbols  of  his  office :  the  Urim  and  the  Thuni- 
mim,  two  precious  stones  of  dazzling  splendor,  sacredly  pre- 
served from  the  days  of  Aaron,  one  of  which  signified  Light 
and  the   other  Bight.     It  was  believed  that  the  power  of 


LAST  RETREAT  AND  RETURN   321 

prophecy  still  existed  in  the  High  Priest,  He  was  the  ap- 
pointed channel  of  the  infinite  wisdom  of  God,  the  mouth- 
piece of  the  secret  counsels  of  heaven.  John  distinctly  cred- 
its him  with  this  power  of  prophecy ;  but  he  describes  it  as 
involuntary,  and  in  this  case  as  used  against  himself. 
Caiaphas  himself  makes  no  such  pretension.  He  came  to 
the  council  rather  to  browbeat  its  members  than  to  instruct 
them.  The  meeting  began  with  desultory  conversation. 
One  by  oue  the  members  expressed  their  perplexity,  their  in- 
competence to  suggest  a  course  of  action.  But  one  fear  was 
in  every  breast,  and  it  is  on  this  fear  that  Caiaphas  adroitly 
plays.  Terror  of  the  Eomans,  who  have  already  curtailed 
the  privileges  of  the  priesthood,  who  openly  covet  the  wealth 
of  the  Temple,  who  are  notoriously  ready  to  seize  any  excuse 
for  spoliation,  is  a  fixed  idea  in  every  mind.  Caiaphas,  when 
he  rises  to  speak,  puts  the  case  with  brutal  frankness.  The 
one  way  to  retain  priestly  privilege  is  to  conciliate  the  Ro- 
mans. Crush  the  offender,  is  his  only  policy.  It  is  no  time 
to  debate  the  miracles  of  Jesus  when  His  very  existence  is  a 
peril  and  a  threat.  Even  though  it  be  conceded,  for  form's 
sake,  that  He  has  done  nothing  worthy  of  death,  yet  it  is  ex- 
pedient He  should  die,  rather  than  that  the  whole  nation 
should  perish.  A  death  the  more  or  less  is  of  little  conse- 
quence when  the  interests  of  the  nation  are  involved  ;  the  fu- 
ture will  pardon  a  crime  so  patriotic,  and  will  praise  rather 
than  denounce  the  men  who  compassed  it.  Aud  amid  the 
agitation  of  every  kind  of  base  fear,  in  the  moral  blindness 
and  passion  of  the  moment,  this  infamous  counsel  passes  for 
inspired  wisdom.  "From  that  day  forth  they  took  counsel 
together  for  to  put  Him  to  death." 

Some  friend,  possibly  Nicodemus,  acquainted  Jesus  with 
the  proceedings  of  this  secret  conclave.     It  is  difficult  to  fix 
the  exact  date  of  this  meeting,  but  it  was  probably  about  a 
21 


322  THE   LIFE   OF   CHRIST 

month  before  the  death  of  Christ,  in  the  end  of  February  or 
the  beginning  of  March.  The  synoptic  Gospels  convey  the 
impression  that  during  this  month  this  Sanhedrim  was  in 
constant  session.  John  states  that  the  determination  to  ar- 
rest Jesus  was  already  taken.  All  the  accounts  agree  that  if 
Jesus  was  not  instantly  arrested,  it  was  not  from  lack  of  will 
on  the  part  of  His  enemies,  but  lack  of  opportunity.  They 
feared  the  people,  and  were  by  no  means  sure  that  a  public 
arrest  would  not  foment  the  very  tumult  which  they  wished 
to  suppress.  Yet  they  had  every  reason  to  complete  their 
policy  without  delay,  for  the  Passover  was  near,  when  there 
was  a  constant  liability  to  public  uproar  from  the  crowded 
condition  of  Jerusalem.  In  the  meantime  Jesus  Himself 
solved  these  perplexities  of  the  Sanhedrim  by  disappearing 
from  the  neighborhood  of  Bethany.  He  not  merely  knew 
how  He  was  to  die,  but  when ;  it  was  meet  that  the  perfect 
sacrifice  and  oblation  of  Himself  should  be  made  at  the  Pass- 
over, which  was  the  day  of  national  sacrifice.  In  all  the  sub- 
sequent history  the  initiative  of  events  is  with  Him.  The 
impression  left  upon  the  mind  is  of  One  who  moves  with  a 
deliberate  majesty  toward  His  end ;  who  lays  down  a  life 
that  is  not  taken  from  Him ;  who  is  the  victim  truly,  but  the 
Victor-victim. 

Jesus  retired  into  the  town  of  Ephraim,  of  which  nothing 
is  known,  save  that  it  was  near  the  desert,  and  about  sixteen 
miles  from  Jerusalem.  Of  all  the  holy  sites  in  Palestine, 
none  would  be  more  truly  sacred,  were  it  discoverable,  than 
this  little  toAvn  of  Ephraim.  Gethsemane  itself  has  no  more 
thrilling  memories  than  this  unknown  town,  where  the  last 
quiet  days  in  the  life  of  Christ  were  spent.  It  is  possible 
that  Jesus  was  unaccompanied  in  this  retreat ;  or  since  John 
alone  mentions  Ephraim,  we  may  conjecture  that  Christ  took 
with  Him  only  His  favorite  disciples,  as  in  the  case  of  the 


LAST  RETREAT  AND  RETURN   323 

Transfiguration  on  Mount  Hermon.  We  can  but  draw  an 
imaginary  picture,  and  there  is  but  one  topographical  feature 
that  may  serve  to  guide  us.  Ephraim  was  certainly  in  the 
desert  of  Judea,  that  desert  where  the  ministry  of  Jesus 
had  commenced,  where  the  Divine  call  had  come,  and 
the  vision  of  the  kingdoms  of  this  world  had  been  seen 
and  rejected.  The  morning  of  His  public  life  opened  in 
these  sterile  grandeurs  of  the  wilderness ;  here  also  came 
the  evening.  Before  the  culminating  acts  in  the  lives  of  the 
great  heroes  of  faith  and  endeavor,  one  often  notices  a  kind 
of  silence,  the  thrilling  pause  before  the  curtain  lifts  upon 
the  final  scene.  Such  a  silence  Jesus  knew  in  Ephraim.  He 
was  able  to  collect  His  thoughts,  to  review  His  life,  to  esti- 
mate both  its  inner  significance  of  purpose,  and  its  outward 
symmetry  of  event.  Among  these  barren  hills,  to  which  the 
spring  brought  little  beaut}-,  we  may  picture  Jesus  wander- 
ing, lost  in  self-communion.  He  no  longer  needs  to  ask, 
"  Whom  do  men  say  that  I  am  ?  "  His  own  soul  gives  in- 
dubitable answer  that  He  is  the  Son  of  the  Highest,  ap- 
pointed to  a  destiny  of  divinest  sacrifice.  The  tempter,  who 
had  once  spoken  among  these  solitudes  in  accents  of  com- 
mingled irony  and  seduction,  appears  no  more ;  the  Prince 
of  this  World  has  come,  and  has  found  nothing  in  Him. 
The  eternal  silence  of  the  scene  is  no  longer  frightful ;  it  is 
the  silence  of  mighty  forces  resolved  into  harmony.  And 
He  also  is  tranquil ;  His  own  soul  is  silent  with  the  pity  and 
the  patience  of  the  sheep  that  is  dumb  before  its  shearers. 
He  has  reached  the  climax  of  the  heroic  soul,  after  which 
the  world  has  no  word  left  that  it  can  speak — "  Though  he 
slay  me,  yet  will  I  trust  Him."  The  peace  of  God  which 
passeth  understanding,  because  it  is  not  known  through  the 
understanding,  but  lies  like  a  fragrance  on  the  heart,  is  His, 
and  nothing  earthly  can  deprive  Him  of  it.     The  hills  of 


324  THE    LIFE    OF   CHRIST 

Epliraim  witnessed  not  the  despair  of  Jesus,  but  His  victory. 
He  had  failed  as  the  world  counts  failure,  but  it  was  a  defeat 
which  was  greater  far  than  victory.  Transfigured  now,  not 
by  outward  agencies  but  by  His  own  Divine  Idea,  He  moves 
amid  these  bloomless  hills,  and  when  He  leaves  them  it  is 
with  the  perfect  knowledge  that  the  march  of  death  has  visi- 
bly begun. 

Yet  it  was  at  this  time,  perhaps  in  this  place,  that  a  re- 
quest was  made  to  Christ,  which  shows  how  little  were  His 
own  thoughts  shared  by  those  who  loved  Him  best.  There 
came  to  Him  the  mother  of  James  and  John,  full  of  ardent 
Messianic  hope,  and  desiring  that  her  sons  should  sit  upon 
the  right  and  left  hand  of  Christ  in  the  new  kingdom  which 
was  to  be  established.  We  may  trace  this  request  to  the 
new  vigor  of  belief  which  had  been  kindled  by  the  raising 
of  Lazarus.  It  appears  strange  that  such  a  request  should 
have  been  made  of  One  who  was  a  fugitive,  for  whose  arrest 
the  order  was  already  given ;  but  it  is  not  strange  if  we  rec- 
ollect the  effect  upon  the  general  mind  which  the  miracle  at 
Bethany  had  produced.  How  could  this  simple  Galilean 
woman  suspect  that  He  who  had  raised  another  from  the 
dead  should  Himself  die  by  violence  ?  How  should  she  im- 
agine in  her  zeal  and  love  that  He  who  had  saved  others 
should  have  no  power  to  save  Himself  ?  And  if  the  request 
was  presumptuous,  yet  the  presumption  was  amply  atoned 
for  by  the  love  and  faith  which  inspired  it. 

The  mother  of  John  and  James  was  no  ordinary  woman. 
She  had  followed  Christ  from  Galilee ;  henceforth  she  fol- 
lowed Him  to  the  end ;  for  the  last  glimpse  we  have  of  her 
is  at  the  Cross,  where  she  stands  afar  off,  with  Mary  Magda- 
lene. On  that  tragic  day  she  knew  the  meaning  of  the 
words  which  Christ  addressed  to  her  now.  With  eager  zeal 
this  woman  who  has  been  so  true  to  Him  pleads  for  her 


LAST  RETREAT  AND  RETURN 


QO! 


sons,  asking  nothing  for  herself,  and  Jesus  answers  them 
rather  than  her :  "  Are  ye  able  to  drink  of  the  cup  that  I 
shall  drink  of,  and  to  be  baptized  with  the  baptism  that  I 
am  baptized  with?"     They  say  unto  Him,  "We  are  able." 
And  then  with  infinite  gentleness  Jesus  shows  them  that  it 
is  not  the  cup  of  royal  welcome  He  will  drink,  but  the  cup 
of  death.     The  son  of  Man  has  come  not  to  be  ministered 
unto  but  to  minister,  and  to  give  his  life  a  ransom  for  many. 
In  the  very  place  where  He  had  once  refused  the  kingdoms 
of  the  world,  He  refuses   them  again.     And  of  the  startled 
group  that  listen  to  Him  there  is  but  one  who  has  the  least 
glimpse  of  what  He  means,  and  this  is  the  woman  herself. 
In  that  dreadful   day  when  all  the  disciples  have  forsaken 
Him  and  fled,  she  alone  followed  Him  to  the  Cross.     They 
who  had  boasted  their  ability  to  drink  the  cup  of  shame  will 
have  refused  it ;  she  will  have  drunk  it  to  the  full,  mingling 
with  it  the  tears  and  sighs  of  a  broken  heart.     Not  in  this 
instance  only,  but  through  all  His  life,  women  gave  to  Jesus 
a  fidelity  and  love  incomparably  finer  than  men  ever  gave 
Him.     It  was  they  who  gave  Him  back  to  the  world,  they 
who  built  the  edifice  of  Christianity  itself.     And  it  is  neither 
James  nor  John  who  sits  beside  Him  in  His  kingdom,  but 
they  who  ministered  of  their  substance  to  His  earthly  needs, 
knew  Him  by  the  learning  of  the  heart,  were  faithful  to  Him 
through  all  reproofs  of  time  and  circumstance,  and  were  first 
in  the  Garden  on  the  morning  when  His  soul  awoke.     To 
that  throne  from  which  He  rules  the  world  Jesus  was  con- 
ducted by  a  sisterhood  of  women,  among  whom  let  us  com- 
memorate one  who  in  the  darkest  hour  saw  crowns  upon  His 
brow this  humble  woman  who  lives  only  in  her  children's 

names. 

The  part  which  women  played  in  the  life  of  Jesus,  and 
especially  in  its  closing  scenes,  was  to  receive   one   more 


326  THE    LIFE    OF   CHRIST 

signal  illustration  at  the  close  of  this  retreat  at  Ephraim. 
While  Jesus  thus  explains  once  more  to  His  disciples  the 
nature  of  His  mission,  the  question  whether  He  will  come  to 
the  feast  is  being  eagerly  debated  in  Jerusalem.  It  had  be- 
come a  truly  national  question.  John,  with  a  singularly 
vivid  touch,  pictures  the  priests,  and  the  great  crowd  of  pil- 
grims themselves,  "  as  they  stood  in  the  Temple,"  exchang- 
ing surmises  and  prognostications — "What  think  ye,  that 
He  will  not  come  to  the  feast  ?  "  Next  to  the  activities  of 
the  life  of  Christ  nothing  is  so  remarkable  as  its  inactivities. 
The  chart  of  destiny  lies  in  His  hands,  and  nothing  human 
can  hasten  or  retard  its  appointed  processes.  His  life  moves 
like  a  river  to  the  sea,  but  it  is  a  river  that  has  not  only 
foaming  rapids,  but  many  a  pool  of  stillness  where  no  cur- 
rent is  perceptible.  At  His  own  time  He  leaves  Ephraim, 
having  eaten  the  last  sacrament  of  silent  self-communion. 
Perhaps  He  waited  for  His  Galilean  -friends  to  join  Him, 
that  He  might  travel  with  them  to  the  Passover,  as  He  had 
done  before.  All  that  is  certain  is  that  He  went  through 
Jericho,  where  He  once  more  affirmed  the  breadth  of  His 
sympathies  by  dining  with  Zaccheus.  From  Jericho  a 
long  and  toilsome  road,  climbing  several  thousand  feet 
through  a  parched  and  hideous  country,  leads  to  Jerusalem. 
By  this  road  He  traveled,  reaching  Bethany  on  the  eve  of 
the  Passover,  and  at  Bethany  Martha  and  Mary  made  Him 
a  final  feast. 

It  was  a  commemoration  feast  in  honor  of  the  raising  of 
Lazarus.  Lazarus  sat  at  the  head  of  the  table,  but  his  sis- 
ters were  not  with  him.  Martha,  with  her  characteristic 
thought  for  others,  served ;  Mary,  full  of  her  own  thoughts, 
and  already  meditating  in  her  heart  a  beautiful  purpose, 
stood  aside,  and  watched  the  feasters.  Outside  the  open 
doors  the  bright  spring  evening  drew  toward  dusk,  and  the 


LAST  RETREAT  AND  RETURN   327 

stars  were  slowly  lit ;  within,  the  stars  of  hope  and  love 
shone,  and  a  solemn  joyonsness  was  felt.  Every  glance  and 
act  of  Lazarus  struck  a  note  of  wonder.  Behold  he  ate,  lie 
drank,  he  talked,  whose  lips  had  breathed  the  last  sigh, 
whose  eyes  had  looked  into  the  face  of  Death !  Who  shall 
describe  what  these  guests  thought  of  him  who  was  their 
host  ?— with  what  a  shudder  they  regarded  him,  with  Avhat 
an  awful  deference  they  spake  with  him,  who  had  known 
what  no  mortal  man  had  ever  known  before !  On  the  im- 
aginative mind  of  Mary,  all  these  thoughts  drew  a  frieze  of 
fire — pictures  confused  and  terrible,  like  the  pictures  in  a 
dream ;  the  realities  of  death  and  of  the  tomb,  mingling  with 
what  seemed  almost  the  unreality  of  this  human  festival. 
And  then  it  was  that  the  beautiful  purpose  took  fashion  in 
her  heart.  She  bethought  her  of  that  precious  spikenard 
bought  for  the  anointing  of  her  brother,  and  she  can  think 
of  nothing  better  than  to  break  it  on  the  feet  of  Jesus, 
wearied  with  the  toilsome  pilgrimage  from  Jericho.  The 
gift,  not  thought  too  precious  for  the  dead,  is  surely  not  too 
costly  for  the  living.  The  bliss  of  love  possesses  her :  the 
uncalculating,  fine  extravagance  of  love,  which  puts  no  meas- 
ure to  its  self-abandonment.  Some  thought,  it  may  be,  of 
that  earlier  anointing  of  the  Lord  in  Bethany  was  in  her 
mind ;  and  she  would  fain  not  do  less  for  Jesus  than  one 
who  was  a  sinner  did.  Impurity  has  made  its  offering,  and 
has  been  absolved ;  when  purity  brings  its  sacrifice  shall 
Jesus  be  offended  ?  And  so,  with  swift  step  she  passes  to 
that  chamber  where  she  had  wept  her  ineffectual  tears  over 
the  brother  who  was  dead ;  she  takes  the  costly  ointment 
from  its  place  ;  she  comes  back  and  breaks  the  vase  over 
those  sacred  feet  that  had  bruised  the  head  of  Death,  she 
anoints  them  with  reverent  hands  and  wipes  them  with  the 
hairs  of  her  head.  "  and  the  house  was  filled  with  the  odor 


328  THE    LIFE    OF   CHRIST 

of  the  ointment."  It  was  an  act  of  exquisite  grace  and  feel- 
ing. Mary  is,  like  all  women,  a  poet  in  her  emotions,  and 
her  deed  is  one  that  thrills  the  hearts  of  all  who  feel.  It  is 
an  act  so  beautiful  that  Christ  foresaw  it  would  belong  to 
the  sacred  idylls  of  the  world :  wherever  His  gospel  should 
be  preached  through  all  the  world  this  thing  should  be  told 
as  a  memorial  of  Mary. 

But  the  scene  is  not  achieved  without  ungenerous  criticism. 
There  is  one  man  who  can  see  in  it  nothing  beautiful  or 
touching.  It  is  for  him  nothing  better  than  a  foolish  scene 
of  sentiment.  It  is  also  an  extravagance  hateful  to  a  man  of 
parsimonious  temper.  There  can  be  little  doubt  that  the 
disciples  themselves  at  the  moment  felt  with  Judas.  In  a 
later  scene,  when  betrayal  was  openly  discussed,  they  did 
not  dissociate  themselves  from  him ;  they  each  exclaimed  in 
terrified  humility,  "  Is  it  I  who  shall  do  this  thing  ?  "  They 
would  think,  "  What  may  be  pardoned  in  a  sinner,  is  not 
pardonable  in  a  saint.  It  was  natural  for  a  woman  used  to 
the  extravagance  of  a  luxurious  evil  life,  to  be  extravagant  in 
her  repentance ;  but  Mary  should  know  better.  She  should 
order  her  life  by  a  colder  sense  of  responsibility,  of  decorum, 
and  of  duty.  She  might  have  sold  this  ointment  for  three 
hundred  pence,  and  have  given  it  to  the  poor."  Judas  has 
especial  cause  for  such  a  thought,  for  he  is  the  treasurer  of 
the  little  band.  There  is  no  need  to  give  too  great  credence 
to  John's  bitter  declaration  that  the  man  was  a  thief.  It  is 
easy  to  read  a,  man's  whole  life  in  the  light  of  a  single  mon- 
strous sin,  and  to  say  that  what  he  became  at  last  no  doubt 
he  always  was,  though  his  vices  were  concealed.  Judas  cer- 
tainly spoke  no  more  than  what  the  others  thought ;  at  all 
events,  no  one  rebuked  him  with  a  word  of  protest.  And 
his  speech,  whether  it  were  an  acted  lie  or  not,  had  all  th 
plausibility  of  virtue  and  good  sense.     Jesus  Himself  might 


LAST  RETREAT  AND  RETURN   329 

surely  be  imagined  as  preferring  charity  to  the  poor  to  any 
act  of  honor  done  to  himself.  He  who  had  spoken  so  touch- 
ingly  of  the  beggar  at  the  rich  man's  gate,  would  surely 
rather  see  the  beggar  fed  than  Himself  made  the  object  of  a 
senseless  waste.  Let  Judas  bear  what  blame  he  may  for  a 
speech  that  was  harsh,  and  unsympathetic  with  the  poetry 
of  the  scene  ;  yet  after  all  it  was  but  the  kind  of  speech  com- 
mon on  the  lips  of  narrow,  good  men,  who  rank  as  an  ad- 
mirable virtue  what  is  called  a  practical  and  economic  tem- 
per. Judas  may  have  spoken  rashly,  and  have  displayed  a 
narrow  mind ;  but  we  may  at  least  give  him  credit  for  hav- 
ing spoken  honestly,  and  all  the  more  should  we  show  this 
charity  to  one  whose  name  became  hereafter  loaded  with  so 
great  a  weight  of  odium. 

"To  what  purpose  is  this  waste?"  is  the  comment  of 
Judas,  and  the  indignant  thought  of  his  fellow-disciples. 
The  beautiful  reply  of  Jesus  is,  in  effect,  a  defence  of  senti- 
ment. Economic  considerations,  and  even  social  duties,  are 
not  the  first  things  in  human  life  :  room  must  be  left  for  the 
play  of  fine  emotions  and  the  instincts  of  the  heart.  In  the 
commerce  of  a  true  affection  gifts  are  exchanged,  because  af- 
fection needs  some  tangible  expression  of  itself.  How  un- 
gracious would  it  be  to  forbid  such  acts  because  they  cannot 
claim  utility,  and  how  impoverished  would  human  life  be- 
come were  it  governed  on  utilitarian  principles  alone  !  Love 
thrives  upon  its  own  redeeming  irrationalties.  It  is  divinely 
wasteful ;  it  is  abandonment  or  nothing.     It 

"  Reeketh  not  itself  to  please, 
Nor  for  itself  hath  any  care, 
But  for  another  gives  it  ease, 

And  builds  a  heaven  in  hell's  despair." 

There  is  a  kind  of  noble  extravagance  in  human  love,  without 


330  THE    LIFE    OF   CHRIST 

which  the  poet,  the  hero,  the  martyr  would  never  reach  their 
goals ;  for  what  do  these  great  lovers  of  truth  and  of  their 
fellow-men  do  but  break  the  alabaster  vase  of  life  itself  that 
the  world  may  be  filled  with  an  immortal  perfume  ?  And 
then,  with  one  heart-thrilling  touch,  Jesus  gives  the  right 
significance  to  this  act  of  Mary's.  What  she  does  is  against 
His  burying,  as  though  she  anointed  one  already  dead. 
When  in  six  short  days  these  captious  friends  of  His  see 
Him  hanging  slain  upon  the  Cross,  will  they  grudge  Him 
Mary's  spikenard,  or  think  that  she  had  loved  Him  too  well  ? 
The  worst  torture  of  bereavement  to  many  a  mourner  is  the 
memory  of  unkindness  to  the  dead,  of  niggardly  returns  of 
tenderness,  and  grudged  and  scant  emotions ;  but  none  has 
ever  yet  regretted  that  the  dead  have  been  too  lavishly  or  too 
well  loved.  The  wasted  spikenard  will  not  seem  wasted 
then.  What  kind  of  man  is  he  who  would  seek  to  alienate 
to  the  service  of  the  poor,  however  worthy  or  deserving,  the 
last  gift  of  human  hands  to  One  who  gave  His  life  for  men  ? 
The  poor  themselves  would  disdain  such  base  enrichment, 
and  would  count  the  thought  an  insult. 

To  Judas  himself  the  words  were  of  sad  significance.  A 
little  later  Jesus  employs  the  very  word  that  Judas  used  in 
plausible  reproach,  and  He  employs  it  against  Judas  himself. 
Of  all  those  whom  God  has  given  Him  Jesus  has  lost  but 
one — "the  son  of  perdition,"  or  the  son  of  waste.  He  who 
was  so  anxious  over  the  waste  of  Mary's  ointment,  had  no 
eyes  to  see  that  it  was  he  himself  who  was  wasting.  And  it 
was  through  that  very  incapacity  for  tender  sentiment,  the 
exhibition  of  which  in  Mary  had  so  much  offended  him,  that 
the  heart  of  Judas  ran  to  waste.  But  Judas  had  no  suspi- 
cion of  the  truth  about  himself.  He  found  no  hint  of  warn- 
ing in  the  dignified  rebuke  of  Christ.  As  he  and  his  fellow- 
disciples  left  the  house  of  Mary  that  night,  no  doubt  they 


LAST  RETREAT  AND  RETURN   331 

renewed  the  discussion  on  the  midnight  road,  and  each  felt 
that  the  protest  had  been  merited.  Silence  settled  on  the 
house  of  Mary ;  but  beneath  that  roof  One  slept  not. 
Through  the  hours  of  darkness  He  who  had  loved  these 
men  through  all  their  errors,  and  would  love  them  to  the 
end,  knew  the  pang  of  love  misunderstood.  The  lofty  nature 
never  is  interpreted  aright  by  the  nature  that  is  less  lofty 
and  magnanimous.  One  thought  alone  brought  balm  to  the 
wounded  heart  of  Jesus,  sleep  to  the  wearied  eyes  :  the  time 
was  near  when  all  misunderstandings  would  dissolve,  and 
from  these  hearts,  baptized  in  grief,  the  flower  of  perfect  love 
would  spring  at  last.  The  day  was  coming  when  they  would 
see  Him  risen  from  the  dead,  and  in  that  day  they  would 
know  Him  as  He  was,  and  love  Him  with  a  leathless  adora- 
tion.    For  that  day  He  could  afford  to  wait. 


CHAPTER  XXIV 

THE   ENTEY   INTO    JERUSALEM 

When  Jesus  awoke  next  morning  it  was  with  complete 
composure.  His  disciples,  refractory  as  they  had  been  to 
His  teaching  the  night  before,  had  returned  to  their  alle- 
giance, and  manifested  no  resentment.  It  is  an  affecting 
characteristic  of  these  men  that  with  all  the  narrowness  of 
their  intellectual  apprehensions  there  was  joined  that  peculiar 
nobility  of  temper  which  endures  rebuke  without  cherishing 
offence.  They  doubted  the  wisdom  of  their  Master,  they 
criticized  His  conduct,  but  they  never  failed  to  follow  Him. 
On  this  day  they  were  to  follow  Him  through  one  of  the 
most  exciting  scenes  of  His  career.  It  was  a  scene  that 
seemed  in  such  complete  contradiction  to  the  gloomy  fore- 
casts of  defeat  to  which  Jesus  had  accustomed  them,  that 
they  might  be  excused  if  now,  at  last,  they  thought  the  king- 
dom of  an  outward  triumph  had  already  come. 

We  have  already  had  occasion  to  note  the  extraordinary 
excitement  which  agitated  the  whole  of  Palestine  at  the 
period  of  the  annual  Passover  celebrations.  The  spirit  of 
patriotic  and  religious  ardor  ran  like  a  flame  throughout  the 
land.  There  was  no  populous  city,  no  remote  hamlet,  that 
did  not  furnish  its  contingent  to  what  was  practically  an  as- 
sembly of  the  entire  nation.  These  innumerable  bands  of 
pilgrims  marched  upon  Jerusalem  from  every  quarter,  sing- 
ing the  ancient  Psalms  of  Israel,  encouraging  in  one  another 
a  joyous  ecstasy  full  of  eager  hopes  of  some  great  national 

deliverance,  to  which  the  past  history  of  their  race,  and  es- 

332 


THE  ENTRY  INTO  JERUSALEM      333 

pecially  the  history  of  the  Passover  itself,  gave  vigorous 
sanction.  Nor  was  it  only  from  Palestine  itself  that  this  im- 
mense concourse  was  drawn.  It  included  Jews  and  prose- 
lytes of  every  nation,  who  made  their  pilgrimage  to  the 
sacred  shrine  much  as  Christians  of  every  creed  still  make 
an  Easter  pilgrimage  to  the  Church  of  the  Holy  Sepulchre, 
or  the  followers  of  Mohammed  journey  in  countless  thou- 
sands year  by  year  to  Mecca.  It  has  been  calculated  that 
not  fewer  than  a  million  strangers  thus  gathered  in  Jerusa- 
lem at  the  time  of  the  Passover.  Camps  sprang  up  outside 
the  walls  of  Jerusalem ;  contiguous  villages,  like  Bethany, 
were  crowded  to  overflowing ;  every  road  leading  to  the  city 
was  thronged  with  pilgrims,  who  daily  increased  in  numbers 
as  the  solemn  day  drew  near.  In  these  circumstances  we 
find  the  explanation  of  what  was  now  to  follow  in  the  life  of 
Jesus.  His  name  and  fame  spread  like  the  broadening  rip- 
ples of  a  wave  throughout  this  excited  multitude.  Bethany 
no  longer  afforded  Him  seclusion ;  it  had  become  a  suburb 
of  Jerusalem.  From  lip  to  lip  there  passed  the  story  of  the 
raising  of  Lazarus,  the  rumored  marvels  of  the  Galilean  min- 
istry, the  many  proofs  of  Messiahship  which  He  had  given. 
The  interest  of  the  Feast  was  centred  not  in  the  Temple  but 
in  Him.  The  very  opposition  He  had  met  made  Him  the 
more  notorious.  And  it  produced,  as  was  natural,  a  counter- 
feeling — a  strong  desire  on  the  part  of  thousands  to  do  Him 
some  honor,  to  accord  Him  some  ovation  that  should  be 
worthy  of  His  fame. 

How  far  Christ  Himself  was  aware  of  this  movement  in 
His  favor  does  not  appear  with  any  clearness  in  the  narra- 
tives of  the  Evangelists.  If  His  previous  career  may  be 
taken  as  the  index  of  His  thoughts,  we  should  certainly  have 
expected  Him  to  reject  any  intended  ovation,  as  He  had  re- 
jected the  proffered  crown  in  Galilee.     And  there  was  the 


334  THE    LIFE   OF   CHRIST 

strongest  reason  of  expediency  why  He  should  reject  it.  The 
priests,  whom  He  knew  to  be  His  deadliest  enemies,  had 
hitherto  entirely  failed  to  manufacture  any  charge  against 
Him  which  would  ensure  His  condemnation.  They  could 
not  put  a  man  to  death  for  merely  doing  good.  Nor  could 
they  charge  One  with  disaffection  to  the  Roman  Government 
■ — the  only  really  capital  offence — who  had  shown  Himself 
consistently  courteous  to  the  Romans  and  respectful  of  their 
authority.  Regarded  merely  as  a  policy,  no  policy  could 
have  been  finer  than  that  which  Jesus  had  hitherto  pursued. 
He  had  moved  at  a  great  altitude  above  all  political  conten- 
tions, and  He  was  well  aware  that  the  scornful  tolerance  of 
Rome  gave  amnesty  to  every  kind  of  religious  or  philosoph- 
ical faith,  so  long  as  it  did  not  involve  an  active  interfer- 
ence in  politics.  But  to  enter  Jerusalem  as  an  acclaimed 
Messiah  was  to  renounce  the  privileges  of  a  political  non- 
combatant.  It  was  to  play  directly  into  the  hands  of  His 
enemies.  It  was  to  afford  them  good  ground  for  that  capital 
charge  which  hitherto  they  had  sought  in  vain  to  substan- 
tiate. It  was,  in  fact,  nothing  more  nor  less  than  to  make 
His  own  death  a  certainty,  except  uj^on  the  quite  improbable 
hypothesis  that  the  whole  nation  would  support  Him  in  a 
successful  revolution  against  the  Roman  power. 

How  it  did  come  to  pass,  then,  that  Jesus  now  permitted 
Himself  to  take  a  step  so  fatal  to  Himself,  and  to  the  con- 
tinuance of  His  mission  ?  We  may  set  aside  at  once  the 
theory  that  Jesus  in  this  case  permitted  Himself  to  be  over- 
borne by  the  zeal  of  His  friends,  for  that  was  a  kind  of  weak- 
ness of  which  He  was  incapable.  We  may  also  dismiss  the 
suggestion  of  a  sudden  thirst  for  popular  fame,  to  which  He 
had  hitherto  shown  Himself  utterly  indifferent  and  even 
scornful.  The  true  explanation  lies  in  His  own  profound 
conviction  that  His  life  was  near  its  close.     To  a  dying  man, 


THE  ENTRY  INTO  JERUSALEM      335 

or  a  man  foredoomed  to  death,  all  human  things  have  dwin- 
dled to  a  point  and  are  equally  significant  or  insignificant. 
It  can  matter  nothing  whether  the  populace  applauds  or  con- 
demns, since  nothing  can  alter  the  ineluctable  decrees  of  des- 
tiny.    Ever  since  the  sacred  days  of  ecstasy  and  renunciation 
passed  at  Osesarea  Philippi,  Jesus  had  known  His  death  a 
certainty ;  and  how  strong  this  conviction  was  even  at  the 
present  hour  is  shown  in  a  reply  which  He  gives  to  certain 
Greeks  who  desire  to  see  Him.     To  these  men,  filled  with 
the  spirit  of  homage  toward  a  popular  idol,  Jesus  replies  that 
He  is  as  a  corn  of  wheat  which  must  needs  fall  into  the 
ground  and  die  before  it  can  bring  forth  fruit.     So  far  is  He 
from  being  deceived  into  proud  hopes  of  earthly  success  by 
this  late  acclamation  as  the  Messiah,  that  He  is  never  so 
much  aware  as  now  of  the  hollowness  of  popularity.     And 
for  that  very  reason  He  can  permit  Himself  to  taste  a  cup 
which  now  has  no  intoxication  for  Him.     He  can  accept  a 
homage  which  does  not  inaugurate,  but  closes  a  career.  ^  And 
He  can  rejoice  too,  with  a  solemn  satisfaction  in  which  no 
pride  is  mingled,  that  for  one  brief  hour,  before  He  leaves 
the  world,  the  claim  to  Messiahship  which  He  has  always 
made,  stands  vindicated.     Consolations,  endearments,  praises, 
which  might  prove  perilous  in  the  heyday  of  life,  may  be 
permitted  in  its  sunset. 

It  was  with  these  solemn  self-communings  that  Jesus  be- 
gan the  last  week  of  His  life  on  the  morning  following  the 
feast  in  Bethany.  He  had  been  anointed  for  His  burial,  and 
in  the  house  of  Lazarus  had  entered  the  shadow  of  death 
from  which  Lazarus  had  escaped.  It  would  have  been  in  ac- 
cord with  all  His  habits  if  He  had  risen  early,  to  meet  the 
sunrise  with  prayer  and  meditation  among  the  palms  of 
Bethany,  and  so  we  may  picture  Him.  But  He  could  not 
Ion"  hide  Himself  from  the  crowd.     As  He  returned  to  the 


336  THE    LIFE    OF   CHRIST 

house  of  Lazarus,  the  camps  of  pilgrims  were  awake,  the 
long  caravans  were  once  more  in  movement,  the  whole  coun- 
tryside was  astir.  Children  watched  Him  with  wondering 
eyes,  groups  of  strangers  discussed  Him  as  He  passed,  and 
murmurs  of  admiration  greeted  Him  on  every  side.  His 
disciples,  as  they  came  from  the  various  houses  where  they 
had  slept,  and  ranged  themselves  beside  Him,  shared  the 
general  exultation.  They  watched  Him  with  minds  divided. 
His  cheerful  conversation  at  the  morning  meal  reached  them 
unheeded ;  they  were  listening  to  the  growing  clamor  in  the 
street.  About  noon  He  gave  them  an  order  at  which  their 
hearts  leaped.  They  were  to  go  to  a  certain  man  in  an  ad- 
joining hamlet,  probably  a  friend  to  the  Galilean  movement, 
and  tell  him  that  their  Master  wished  to  borrow  his  ass. 
Suddenly  the  purpose  of  Christ  became  clear  to  them ;  He 
intended  riding  into  Jerusalem.  They  departed  on  their  er- 
rand, their  fear  of  the  Sanhedrim  melting  when  they  saw  the 
favor  with  which  the  crowd  received  them.  Probably  they 
passed  the  word  as  they  went  that  Jesus  was  about  to  enter 
Jerusalem,  and  the  excited  multitude  began  to  line  the  road 
in  the  hope  of  seeing  Him.  So  in  a  few  moments  a  great 
popular  triumph  was  arranged,  and  when  Jesus  left  the  house 
of  Lazarus  it  was  to  find  the  world  awaiting  Him. 

The  first  part  of  His  journey  was  accomplished  on  foot, 
and  unaccompanied  by  His  disciples.  Had  a  scornful  Ro- 
man looked  upon  that  scene,  he  might  well  have  asked  of  the 
eager  crowds,  "  What  went  ye  out  for  to  see  ?  "  There  is  lit- 
tle doubt  that  Jesus  wore  that  day,  as  He  did  throughout 
His  ministry,  the  simple  raiment  of  a  Galilean  peasant. 
This  included  the  ordinary  turban  of  pure  white,  wound 
about  the  head,  with  folds  which  fell  upon  the  neck  and 
shoulders  as  a  protection  from  the  sun.  On  his  feet  were 
sandals.     His  inner  garment  was  close-fitting,  "  without  seam, 


THE  ENTRY  INTO  JERUSALEM      337 

woven  from  the  top  throughout,"  the  work  of  some  Galilean 
loom.  Over  this  was  worn  an  outer  garment  of  plain  blue, 
with  fringes  of  white  thread  at  the  four  corners.  The  phy- 
lacteries, small  rolls  of  parchment  bound  in  ostentation  on 
the  arm  or  forehead  of  the  Pharisees,  we  may  be  sure  He 
did  not  wear.  Even  these  simple  garments  were  worn  and 
faded  with  much  travel  and  exposure.  But  Kingship  over 
men  dwells  not  in  royal  robes,  but  in  royalty  of  person ;  and 
there  was  none  that  day  who  did  not  feel  the  simple  dignity 
of  Jesus.  He  came,  attended  by  the  swelling  approbation  of 
the  crowd.  The  road  He  took  was  the  road  that  still  exists, 
winding  round  the  shoulder  of  Olivet,  amid  groves  of  figs 
and  palms,  until  suddenly  across  a  wide  abyss  Jerusalem  is 
seen,  rising  like  a  city  painted  on  the  clouds.  At  some  point 
in  this  road  the  disciples  met  their  Master  with  the  borrowed 
ass,  on  which  He  now  rode  through  an  increasing  multitude. 
From  Jerusalem  itself,  or  from  the  camps  of  pilgrims  outside 
the  western  gates,  another  multitude  pressed  forward  to  meet 
Him.  Cries  of  Hosanna  filled  the  air,  with  some  the  heart- 
felt tribute  of  pious  lips  to  His  authority,  with  others  merely 
the  expression  of  a  wish  for  His  good  fortune  or  good  luck. 
The  old  joyous  enthusiasm  which  had  made  his  earlier  Gali- 
lean journeys  a  continual  bridal  procession  seemed  renewed, 
but  on  a  vaster  scale,  and  under  the  shadow  of  Jerusalem  it- 
self. Palm-boughs,  gathered  from  the  gardens  round  Jeru- 
salem, began  to  strew  the  way ;  and  those  who  had  not  these 
to  offer,  laid  their  outer  garments  in  the  road.  Never  was 
there  scene  of  such  enthusiasm ;  never  was  there  crowd  so 
infatuated  with  a  sublime  idea.  To  those  tumultuous 
throngs  it  seemed  that  the  knell  of  Rome  had  rung.  The 
long  and  often  disappointed  dream  of  Jewish  nationality  was 
coming  true.  The  golden  age  had  dawned,  for  at  last  a  Jew- 
ish King  was  riding  to  His  capital  in  triumph.     Amid  this 


338  THE    LIFE    OF   CHRIST 

tumult  of  delight,  which  swept  away  all  sober  sense,  no  one 
was  any  longer  capable  of  seeing  things  in  plain  and  lucid 
outline  :  all  swam  through  a  dazzling  mist ;  all  caught  the 
glamor  of  imagination.  And  least  of  all  did  the  multitude 
perceive  the  growing  sadness  on  the  face  of  Jesus ;  least  of 
all  could  any  in  these  shouting  throngs  suppose  that  the 
Man  to  whom  they  did  such  honor  was  riding  to  His  death. 
The  most  affecting  incident  in  this  triumphant  progress  is 
narrated  by  St.  Luke  alone.  The  road  from  Bethany  to 
Jerusalem  winds  round  the  shoulder  of  Olivet,  along  the 
edge  of  a  deep  valley,  so  that  no  view  of  Jerusalem  is  pos- 
sible till  more  than  half  the  journey  is  completed.  Fertile 
gardens  clothe  these  slopes  of  Olivet,  with  here  and  there  an 
almond-tree,  in  spring-time  covered  with  its  blossoms  of  del- 
icate pink,  and  in  the  days  of  Christ  many  palms,  which 
have  long  since  disappeared,  lifted  their  fan-shaped  heads 
from  this  mass  of  foliage,  or  lined  the  road.  The  general 
effect  even  to-day  is  one  of  complete  seclusion  and  of  rural 
peace,  with  no  hint  whatever  of  the  neighborhood  of  a  great 
metropolis.  At  the  distance  of  about  a  mile  and  a  half  from 
Bethany  the  road  abruptly  bends  to  the  right,  a  narrow 
plateau  of  rock  is  reached,  and  with  a  startling  suddenness 
the  whole  city  is  revealed.  Nowhere  perhaps  in  all  the 
world  is  there  to  be  attained  a  view  of  a  metropolis  so  com- 
plete in  itself  or  so  dramatic  in  the  suddenness  of  its  revela- 
tion. The  peculiar  feature  of  Jerusalem  is  that  it  is  a  city 
set  upon  a  hill,  or  rather  on  an  isolated  bastion  of  rock,  sur- 
rounded on  three  sides  by  profound  and  savage  gorges ;  and 
at  no  point  is  this  distinctive  feature  so  plainly  recognized 
as  from  this  point  of  view  upon  the  road  to  Bethany.  Im- 
mediately opposite  is  the  vast  Temple  area,  occupied  by  the 
solitary  dome  of  the  Mosque  of  Omar.  The  grey  walls  of 
the  city  "rise  from  an  abyss,"  and  behind  them,  dome  on 


THE  ENTRY  INTO  JERUSALEM      339 

dome,  turret  on  turret,  tower  on  tower,  swells  the  long  broken 
line  of  the  city  itself.  Toward  evening  the  effect  is  magical. 
Bathed  in  hues  of  brightest  gold  and  deepest  purple,  raised 
at  an  aerial  height  above  these  gorges  full  of  gloom,  the  city 
seems  insubstantial  as  a  city  seen  in  dreams,  ready  to  dis- 
solve at  any  moment  at  the  falling  of  an  enchanter's  wand. 
At  such  a  moment  the  mind  can  comprehend  the  picture 
drawn  in  the  Apocalypse  of  a  new  Jerusalem,  let  down  from 
heaven,  adorned  as  a  bride  for  her  husband,  glowing  with 
precious  jewels  and  purple  raiment :  for  Jerusalem  appears 
indeed  at  such  an  hour  a  city  "  let  down  from  heaven,"  rather 
than  belonging  to  the  earth ;  and  it  was  perhaps  some  mem- 
ory of  sunsets  on  Jerusalem  seen  from  this  plateau  of  the 
Mount  of  Olives  which  inspired  the  gorgeous  fantasies  of 
John. 

It  was  at  this  point  in  the  road  that  the  procession  of  the 
Galileans  halted ;  and  if,  amid  the  ruins  of  the  city  and  the 
desolation  of  its  suburbs,  the  view  even  to-day  retains  pow- 
erful elements  of  grandeur,  how  much  more  magnificent  must 
it  then  have  appeared  on  that  day  when  the  eyes  of  Jesus 
rested  on  it  ?  Where  now  the  Mosque  of  Omar  rises,  in  the 
centre  of  so  vast  a  space  that  it  seems  itself  dwarfed  and  in- 
significant, there  then  stood  the  Temple,  filling  every  corner 
of  the  area  with  its  multiplied  and  splendid  colonnades,  with 
its  superb  and  lofty  edifices,  which  crowded  to  the  very  edge 
of  the  abyss,  and  rose  from  it  like  a  glittering  apparition. 
The  whole  city  was  planned  upon  a  scale  of  almost  equal  splen- 
dor. On  every  hand  mansions  of  marble  rose  out  of  gardens  of 
exquisite  verdure ;  terrace  upon  terrace  the  city  climbed,  till 
in  the  northwest  it  was  crowned  by  the  porticoes  of  Herod's 
palace ;  a  vast  aqueduct  spanned  the  valley,  and  from  the 
Temple  to  the  upper  city  stretched  a  stately  bridge ;  while 
the  walls  themselves,  built  of  massive  masonry  and  appar- 


340  THE    LIFE    OF   CHRIST 

ently  impregnable  to  all  assault,  suggested  a  city  "  half  as 
old  as  Time,"  and  meant  to  endure  in  undiminished  strength 
and  glory  amid  the  thousandfold  contentions  and  disruptions 
of  the  pigmy  race  of  man.  It  was  thus  that  these  countless 
throngs  of  pilgrims  thought  of  the  sacred  city,  thus  they 
viewed  it  with  the  ardent  eyes  of  pride  and  love ;  nor  was 
there  anything  in  all  they  saw  to  check  the  exaltation  of 
their  thought.  Jerusalem,  beautiful  for  situation,  the  joy  of 
the  whole  earth,  would  endure  for  ever,  when  Home  itself 
had  vanished  like  a  mist.  Here  should  the  tribes,  not  alone 
of  Israel,  come  up  to  worship,  but  the  alien  races  of  mankind, 
eager  to  participate,  however  humbly,  in  the  covenanted 
privileges  of  the  Jew.  If  God  had  humbled  the  imperial 
city  by  permitting  the  Roman  occupation,  it  was  only  for  a 
time,  and  the  hour  was  near  when  this  tyranny  would  pass. 
Nay,  that  hour  had  already  struck ;  the  King  of  the  Jews 
was  coming  to  His  own ;  for  the  first  time  in  many  dreary 
years  they  dared  to  use  the  forbidden  word  "Blessed  be  the 
King,  who  cometh  in  the  name  of  the  Lord"  ;  and  with  all 
the  ardor  of  patriots  and  fanatics  this  applauding  multitude 
pictured  the  city  falling  without  a  blow,  and  surrendering  it- 
self with  shouts  of  gladness  to  the  sceptre  of  the  Nazarene. 
Yain  hopes,  fond  illusions,  not  shared  by  Him  whom  they 
acclaimed !  Where  all  was  hope  and  pride  and  triumph,  He 
alone  was  not  elated ;  He  alone  saw  the  city  with  the  proph- 
et's brooding  eye ;  and  as  the  procession  halted  on  this  rock 
plateau,  from  which  the  whole  vast  panorama  lay  unfolded, 
an  utter  sadness  fell  upon  His  heart.  From  hill  and  tower 
the  splendor  faded,  and  He  saw  the  shadow  of  irreparable 
disaster  deepening  into  darkest  night.  "And  when  He  was 
come  near,  He  beheld  the  city,  and  wept  over  it,"  says  St. 
Luke.  Nor  was  it  the  outburst  of  a  nature  of  exquisite  sen- 
sitiveness, wrought  into  a  passion  of  hysteric  tears  by  the 


THE  ENTRY  INTO  JERUSALEM       341 

excitement  of  the  scene,  or  by  any  painful  thought  of  per- 
sonal defeat.  We  could  understand  such  thoughts,  for  the 
hour  of  triumph  often  has  its  tears.  But  these  tears  were 
the  tears  of  the  prophet-patriot  weeping  for  his  race.  He 
saw  with  all  too  clear  a  vision  the  goal  to  which  events  were 
moving.  He  had  sought  to  recreate  in  Israel  the  old  and 
pure  ideals  of  a  theocracy,  and  He  had  failed.  Had  the  Jew 
accepted  these  ideals,  had  the  race  chosen  of  God  to  be  the 
depository  of  all  spiritual  truth  been  content  with  its  mis- 
sion, then  had  it  endured  in  peace  and  triumph.  But  Jeru- 
salem, in  seeking  to  outrival  the  material  Empire  of  the  Ro- 
mans, had  rejected  the  things  that  belonged  to  her  peace,  and 
had  hidden  her  eyes  from  her  true  mission.  Sooner  or  later 
the  inevitable  collision  must  come,  and  the  kingdom  of  clay 
must  be  broken  by  the  kingdom  of  iron.  The  pride,  the  ar- 
rogance, the  worldliness,  the  ambition  of  the  priesthood,  at 
once  foolish  and  intrepid,  was  working  out  the  national  ruin. 
And  He  could  have  prevented  that  ruin.  A  priesthood 
deeply  impregnated  and  invigorated  by  His  teaching  would 
have  dwelt  secure  in  the  efficacy  of  spiritual  ideas,  and  would 
have  ruled  the  world  not  by  force  of  arms,  but  by  the  force 
of  truth.  But  Jerusalem  had  chosen  that  worst  part,  which 
she  must  now  expiate  till  the  "  the  last  syllable  of  recorded 
time."  And  so,  to  the  consternation  of  His  followers,  Jesus 
wept  what  must  have  seemed  to  them  tears  of  weakness  in 
the  very  hour  when  courage  was  most  needed  to  affirm  of 
Himself  what  they  affirmed  of  Him,  that  He  was  a  King  be- 
fore whom  Jerusalem  would  kneel.  He  wept  over  the  city, 
and  from  His  lips  broke  forth  the  words,  all  too  faithfully 
fulfilled  in  later  days,  and  in  the  lifetime  of  many  who  now 
heard  them  with  indignant  wonder :  "  For  the  days  shall 
come  upon  thee,  that  thine  enemies  shall  cast  a  trench  about 
thee,  and  compass  thee  round,  and  keep  thee  in  on  every 


342  THE    LIFE    OF   CHRIST 

side,  and  shall  lay  thee  even  with  the  ground,  and  thy  chil- 
dren within  thee ;  and  they  shall  not  leave  in  thee  one  stone 
upon  another,  because  thou  knewest  not  the  hour  of  thy  vis- 
itation ! " 

And  then  the  procession  swept  on  again,  but  it  was  in 
diminished  triumph.  A  chill  had  fallen  on  the  temper  of  the 
multitude,  as  though  an  icy  wind  had  issued  from  the  gener- 
ous sunlight.  The  crowd  swept  down  the  hill,  past  the  Gar- 
den of  Gethsemane,  and  crossed  the  valley  of  the  Kedron,  to 
that  Golden  Gate  which  led  directly  to  the  Temple ;  but  the 
nearer  it  approached  the  Temple  the  more  evident  was  the 
discouragement  among  the  people.  It  is  St.  Matthew  who 
indicates  by  a  single  subtle  touch  this  change  in  the  temper 
of  the  populace,  which  is  unintelligible  until  we  recollect  the 
tears  of  Jesus  and  the  prophecy  of  desolation  which  He  had 
uttered  against  the  city  as  He  drew  near  to  it.  As  far  as  the 
rock  plateau  beside  the  road  where  Jesus  halted,  all  had  been 
tumultuous  enthusiasm.  The  expulsion  of  the  Romans  from 
the  sacred  city  seemed  so  near  and  certain  that  all  restraints 
of  fear  had  been  relaxed,  and  with  one  accord  the  crowd  had 
called  Jesus  King,  and  so  had  been  guilty  of  sedition.  But 
now  they  no  longer  dare  to  utter  a  word  so  perilous.  Jeru- 
salem itself,  imperturbable  and  frowning,  with  its  guarded 
gates,  where  the  Roman  soldiers  stood  in  stolid  scorn,  may 
have  dismayed  them ;  the  fear  of  the  priests,  who  were  known 
to  be  in  opposition  to  Jesus,  may  have  dismayed  them  yet 
more,  especially  as  they  thronged  into  the  Temple  courts 
where  they  were  supreme ;  but  most  of  all  they  were  dis- 
mayed by  the  words  and  conduct  of  Christ  Himself.  The 
whole  city  was  moved  to  meet  them ;  from  bazaars  and  Tem- 
ple courts  the  multitude  thronged  forth,  and  from  the  walls 
and  roofs  a  thousand  eyes  looked  down.  "  Who  is  this  ?  " 
cried  the  people,  with  that  inflection  of  superiority  and  scorn, 


THE  ENTRY  INTO  JERUSALEM       343 

never  so  bitter  as  on  the  lips  of  a  Jerusalem  Jew  in  address- 
ing Galileans.  And  the  Galileans  no  longer  dare  to  answer, 
1  "This  is  the  King  who  coineth  in  the  name  of  the  Lord." 
They  are  no  longer  willing  to  commit  themselves  to  so  rash 
and  daring  an  assertion  about  One  who  has  wept  in  the  mo- 
ment of  His  triumph,  and  has  uttered  woes  when  He  should 
have  uttered  the  trumpet-cry  of  the  victorious  captain. 
"  This  is  Jesus,  the  prophet  of  Nazareth  of  Galilee,"  is  their 
tame  reply.  They  may  safely  call  Him  this,  but  they  will 
yield  Him  no  more  regal  title.  They  are  glad,  perhaps,  to 
slink  away  into  the  less  public  quarters  of  the  city,  fearful 
of  their  own  rashness,  conscious  of  their  own  folly ;  Jesus 
has  quenched  all  their  patriotic  ardor  with  His  own  tears. 
And  He  has  sown  with  His  words  the  seeds  of  disappoint- 
ment and  resentment,  which  will  spring  up  rapidly  into  re- 
venge ;  for  who  so  revengeful  on  his  leader  as  the  patriot 
who  thinks  himself  deluded  or  betrayed,  or  made  ridiculous 
by  the  folly  of  one  whom  he  had  thought  a  hero  ?  It  is, 
after  all,  nothing  strange  in  human  nature  that  this  same 
crowd  who  began  the  week  with  Hosannas  should  conclude 
it  with  cries  of  "  Crucify  Him  !  " 

Yet  this  entry  into  Jerusalem  was  far  from  the  fiasco  it 
appears  to  be,  if  we  have  regard  to  these  considerations 
alone.  It  is  certain  that  the  authority  of  Christ  never  stood 
so  high  on  this  memorable  day.  The  Pharisees  themselves 
complain  with  truth  that  the  world  has  gone  after  Him.  He 
enters  the  Temple  once  more  to  cleanse  it  of  its  traffickers  in 
gold,  as  He  had  done  at  the  commencement  of  His  ministry. 
Bitter  chagrin  reigns  among  the  priests,  who  perceive  more 
clearly  than  ever  that  a  public  arrest  is  impossible.  Yet  at 
the  end  of  the  day  Jesus  stands  almost  alone.  St.  Mark, 
who  says  nothing  of  this  second  cleansing  of  the  Temple, 
adds  one  vivid  touch  to  his  narrative  which  conveys  a  deep 


344  THE   LIFE    OF   CHRIST 

impression  of  the  solitude  of  Jesus  when  the  day  neared  its 
close :  "  He  looked  round  about  upon  all  things "  in  the 
Temple,  in  a  grieved,  majestic  silence,  as  one  who  takes  fare- 
well of  a  familiar  scene.  One  thing  only  in  the  long  day 
left  a  sense  of  pleasure  in  His  mind.  The  Hosannas  of  the 
crowd  terminated  at  the  Temple  courts ;  but  the  little  chil- 
dren, more  eager  than  their  elders,  and  innocently  daring, 
had  followed  Him  into  the  Temple  itself  with  joyous  accla- 
mations. It  was  fitting  that  He  who  had  made  a  little  child 
the  type  of  all  that  was  adorable,  should  receive  the  last  trib- 
ute of  adoration  which  human  lips  would  ever  give  Him  from 
a  crowd  of  little  children.  He  looked  round  about  on  every- 
thing ;  but  in  that  array  of  many  pictures  which  had  filled 
the  day,  none  was  so  sweet  and  fair  as  the  picture  of  these 
babes  and  sucklings,  out  of  whose  mouths  God  had  ordained 
sincerer  praise  than  the  brethren  of  His  own  flesh  would 
yield  Him.  Through  the  silence  of  the  evening  their  voices 
still  made  music  for  Him ;  and  it  was  with  these  childish 
voices  echoing  in  His  heart  that  He  left  the  Temple,  and 
went  out  into  the  sunset,  to  travel  back  to  Bethany,  which 
was  to  be  His  home  until  the  better  home  of  God  received 
Him  into  its  eternal  hospitalities. 


CHAPTEK  XXV 

THE   GREAT   RENUNCIATION 

Even  yet  Jesus  might  have  been  saved  from  the  malevo- 
lence of  His  enemies.  We  may  recall  what  has  been  said  in 
an  earlier  chapter  upon  the  immense  popularity  which  He 
had  achieved  by  resisting  the  exactions  of  the  priests,  and 
the  second  cleansing  of  the  Temple  must  have  greatly  rein- 
forced that  popularity.  In  spite  of  waves  of  timidity  which 
swept  over  the  fickle  populace,  Jesus  remained  a  popular 
idol.  A  definite  proclamation  of  leadership  or  kingship 
from  His  lips  would  certainly  have  rallied  to  Him  a  host  of 
followers.  It  was  precisely  this  contingency  which  the  San- 
hedrim most  dreaded.  Jerusalem  at  Passover-time  resembled 
a  vast  arsenal,  crammed  with  combustible  material,  which  a 
single  spark  of  fanaticism  might  explode.  It  was  natural 
that  the  priests  should  recognize  in  Jesus  their  most  danger- 
ous countryman,  and  there  was  genuine  political  astuteness 
in  the  argument  of  Caiaphas  that  the  peace  of  the  nation  de- 
manded His  death.  But  it  was  also  abundantly  clear  that 
this  policy  had  no  chance  of  successful  execution  unless 
Jesus  could  be  detached  from  His  followers.  Long  ago  His 
arrest  had  been  ordered,  and  yet  no  man  dared  to  lay  a  hand 
upon  Him  for  fear  of  the  people.  He  came  and  went  as  He 
willed,  in  spite  of  threats  and  warnings.  It  was  the  old 
story  of  a  jealous  oligarchy  fighting  for  its  life  against  a 
democratic  movement  which  it  hated,  and  feared  even  more 
than  it  hated. 

The  principle  of  fanaticism,  strong  in  all  Oriental  peoples, 

345 


346  THE    LIFE    OF   CHRIST 

manifested  its  most  alarming  energy  in  the  Jew.  We  must 
take  full  account  of  this  fanaticism  of  Jewish  character  in 
estimating  the  existing  situation  in  Jerusalem.  At  first  sight 
nothing  could  seem  more  unlikely  than  that  there  should 
have  been  the  least  chance  of  success  in  a  Jewish  rising 
against  the  Roman  power.  Yet  a  few  years  later,  in  the 
May  of  G6,  such  a  rising  was  successful.  An  exasperated 
nation  is  capable  of  a  reckless  daring  which  seems  incredible 
to  the  historian.  It  was  so  in  6(3,  when  Jerusalem  rose 
against  a  despotism  it  could  no  longer  endure,  and  the  le- 
gions of  Eome  were  crashed  by  the  violence  of  an  unarmed 
mob.  In  a  few  weeks  Jerusalem  was  evacuated  by  the  Ro- 
mans, the  town  of  Antonia  was  burned,  its  half-starved  de- 
fenders were  massacred,  and  the  revolt  spread  through  the 
whole  of  Palestine.  With  such  a  page  of  history  before  us, 
it  is  impossible  to  doubt  that  had  Jesus  boldly  declared  a 
revolution  on  His  entry  into  Jerusalem,  the  movement  might 
have  been  attended  with  success.  The  Roman  garrison  was 
small,  and  the  Roman  authority  had  suffered  seriously  at 
the  hands  of  Pontius  Pilate.  Herod,  who  was  residing  in 
Jerusalem  at  this  time,  was  not  unwilling  to  foment  a  revolt 
which  might  serve  his  own  ambitious  ends.  The  million 
Passover  pilgrims  present  in  the  city,  all  of  whom  were  fa- 
natically attached  to  the  idea  of  Jewish  nationality,  afforded 
material  for  the  revolt.  Never  did  Jesus  come  nearer  to 
grasping  the  kingdoms  of  the  world  and  the  glory  of  them 
than  in  this  last  week  in  Jerusalem.  At  a  single  word,  at 
once  bold  and  decisive,  the  banner  of  a  national  insurrection 
would  have  been  unfurled ;  and,  when  we  think  of  the  aston- 
ishing success  of  a  Mahomet,  who  shall  say  what  triumph 
might  not  have  awaited  a  resolute  and  ardent  Liberator  ? 

That  word  was  not  spoken,  but  the  key  to  the  situation  is 
that   the  priests  could  not  know  that    it  never  would  be 


THE  GREAT  RENUNCIATION        347 

spoken.  On  the  contrary,  they  fully  expected  it ;  and  not 
without  reason.  The  boldness  of  Jesus  in  defying  their  au- 
thority argued  a  similar  boldness  in  inaugurating  a  campaign 
against  the  Roman  usurpation.  They  saw  Jesus  pass  in 
triumph  through  the  Golden  Gate,  they  saw  their  own  choir- 
boys of  the  Temple  rushing  to  His  side  and  receiving  Him 
with  plaudits.  Had  not  Jesus  already  offended  them  be- 
yond forgiveness  by  the  bold  nobility  of  His  religious  teach- 
ing, they  would  perhaps  have  been  ready  to  support  Him. 
But  they  recognized  in  Him  a  revolutionary  more  dangerous 
to  them  than  to  the  Romans.  They  had  no  wish  to  help 
into  power  a  Dictator  who  would  certainly  turn  His  power 
against  themselves.  Hence  at  this  critical  moment  they 
were  bound  to  make  common  cause  with  the  Romans.  Cse- 
sar  appeared  to  them  a  less  terrible  despot  than  Jesus. 
Ctesar  at  least  protected  their  privileges  and  their  wealth, 
which  Jesus  would  have  destroyed.  By  some  means  Jesus 
must  be  isolated  from  His  followers  :  this  seemed  the  one 
practicable  plan  of  action.  He  must  be  made  to  appear 
ridiculous  to  them.  He  must  appear  to  have  betrayed  their 
hopes.  Was  it  possible  to  counteract  His  popularity  with 
such  a  stroke  of  strategy  ?  They  knew  His  exquisite  sim- 
plicity of  mind.  They  knew  that,  in  spite  of  His  formidable 
genius,  He  often  spoke  or  acted  like  a  dreamer  or  a  child. 
Things  hung  in  such  a  delicate  poise  that  a  single  injudi- 
cious word  might  prove  fatal  to  His  movement,  and  be  the 
making  of  theirs  ;  and  so  they  set  themselves  to  play  on  His 
simplicity,  in  the  hope  that  He  Himself  would  precipitate  a 
ruin  which  they,  with  all  their  malice,  were  unable  to 
achieve. 

How  deep  the  alarm  was  among  what  may  be  called  "  the 
party  of  order,"  how  bitter  the  hatred,  may  be  judged  from 
the  nature  of  the  combination  formed  for  the  execution  of 


348  THE    LIFE    OF   CHRIST 

tlieir  plot.  We  have  already  seen  that  between  the  Herodi- 
ans,  the  Pharisees,  and  the  Saddncees,  the  strongest  animos- 
ities prevailed  ;  but  we  now  find  them  acting  together.  The 
plot  is  to  entrap  Jesus  into  some  injudicious  speech  about 
the  capitation  tax,  imposed  on  the  nation  by  the  Romans. 
This  was  a  tax  bitterly  resented  by  the  entire  population, 
not  only  because  it  affirmed  the  political  subjugation  of  the 
nation,  but  because  it  destroyed  the  sacred  theocratic  prin- 
ciple of  Jewish  history.  To  pay  tribute  to  Cresar  was  to 
acquiesce  in  his  authority,  and  to  disclaim  the  authority  of 
God,  as  the  Eternal  King  of  Israel.  It  excited  the  same 
kind  of  agitation  which  the  imposition  of  ship-money  ex- 
cited among  the  Puritans.  This  strange  people,  who  ac- 
tually had  to  be  restrained  by  law  lest  they  cast  too  large  a 
portion  of  tlieir  wealth  into  the  Temple  treasury,  resisted  to 
the  death  the  payment  of  the  very  moderate  tax  of  a  single 
drachma  per  head  to  the  imperial  exchequer.  They  even 
had  violent  religious  scruples  about  handling  the  imperial 
coinage  at  all,  going  so  far  as  to  drop  it  into  water,  as  if  by 
accident,  that  it  might  be  cleansed  before  they  touched  it. 
There  was,  perhaps,  no  single  subject  upon  which  all  parties 
were  so  thoroughly  agreed  as  the  hatefulness  and  iniquity  of 
this  taxation,  and  it  was  clearly  impossible  for  any  patriotic 
leader  who  did  not  share  these  views  to  expect  the  least 
chance  of  success.  Even  the  Herodian  himself,  mere  time- 
server  as  he  was,  felt  much  as  Naaman  felt  when  he  en- 
tered the  house  of  Eimmon ;  his  position  was  so  rad- 
ically false  that  he  could  conciliate  rebuke  only  by  abject 
apology. 

It  argues  a  deep  sense  of  the  originality  of  Christ's  char- 
acter that  these  men  should  have  supposed  that  on  such  a 
matter  the  views  of  Jesus  should  have  differed  from  those  of 
His    countrymen.     They    proposed  to   submit  to  Him   the 


THE  GREAT  RENUNCIATION        349 

question  of  the  rightfulness  of  tribute,  with  the  definite  ex- 
pectation that  He  would  reply  in  a  way  that  would  probably 
be  so  novel  as  to  offend  all  parties.  The  Pharisees  them- 
selves, knowing  how  Christ  regarded  them,  with  much  astute- 
ness kept  in  the  background.  They  sent  some  of  their  dis- 
ciples, probably  young  men,  who  could  play  the  part  of 
inquirers  after  truth ;  and  with  them  were  certain  Herodians 
who  could  not  be  suspected  of  favoring  the  idea  of  Jewish 
independence.  The  aim  of  this  adroit  deputation  was  to 
make  it  appear  that  there  has  arisen  among  themselves  a  dis- 
cussion on  the  rightfulness  of  tribute,  which  they  now  brought 
to  Jesus  for  settlement,  according  to  the  general  custom  which 
recognized  the  eminent  Rabbi  as  the  arbiter  of  all  disputes. 
Hostility  to  Jesus  was  carefully  veiled,  so  that  if  possible  He 
might  be  taken  off  His  guard.  They  approach  Him  with  the 
utmost  suavity,  with  the  anxious  air  of  perplexed  but  honest 
persons,  who  find  themselves  in  difficulties.  "  Master,"  they 
say,  "  we  know  that  Thou  art  true,  and  teachest  the  way  of 
God  in  truth,  neither  carest  Thou  for  any  man,  for  Thou  re- 
gardest  not  the  person  of  men.  Tell  us,  therefore,  what 
thinkest  Thou  ?  Is  it  lawful  to  give  tribute  unto  Caesar  or 
not?"  A  question  so  plainly  put  can  hardly  admit  of  any 
but  a  plain  and  definite  reply,  they  think.  And  they  can 
imagine  but  two  replies,  either  one  of  which  would  be  fatal 
to  Jesus.  If  He  decides  that  the  tribute  is  not  lawful,  which 
means  that  it  is  a  patriotic  duty  to  resist  it,  He  at  once  de- 
clares Himself  a  revolutionary  leader,  and  will  be  liable  to 
arrest  by  the  Roman  authorities.  If  He  declares  that  it  is 
lawful,  and  must  be  accepted  without  resistance,  He  will  at 
once  alienate  His  own  followers.  No  third  reply  seems  pos- 
sible ;  and  yet  the  question  is  put  with  a  certain  ill-concealed 
trepidation,  which  suggests  that  however  fortified  by  logic 
were  the  minds  of  these  men,  yet  they  were  haunted  by  a 


350  THE    LIFE    OF   CHRIST 

just  suspicion  of  the  formidable  genius  of  Jesus,  and  of  His 
novel  methods  of  thought. 

This  suspicion  was  well-grounded.  A  mind  of  great  sim- 
plicity often  proves  itself  too  much  for  the  logician,  and  that 
very  simplicity  of  Christ,  on  which  they  hoped  to  play, 
proves  itself  the  one  incalculable  element  which  wrecks  their 
plot.  The  crowd  waits  for  His  reply,  for  this  scene  was  en- 
acted in  the  Temple,  under  conditions  of  the  widest  publicity. 
They  wait  in  breathless  silence,  for  every  one  feels  this  to  be 
a  crucial  question.  Some  are  already  angered  at  the  tears 
of  Jesus  over  Jerusalem,  and  at  His  dismal  prophecies  of  its 
destruction.  Others,  who  took  part  in  the  triumphal  march 
from  Bethany,  are  eager  to  forget  what  seems  upon  reflection 
a  moment  of  hysteria  in  Jesus,  and  to  believe  of  Him  what 
their  own  patriotic  hopes  would  lead  them  to  believe.  With 
the  Pharisees  themselves  there  may  have  been  a  stronger 
disposition  to  rally  to  His  side  than  is  at  first  apparent. 
History  teaches  us  conclusively  that  no  human  character,  no 
human  movement,  can  be  painted  in  plain  black  or  white ; 
they  are  a  thousand  delicate  gradations  between  hostility  and 
loyalty,  crime  and  virtue.  The  man  who  engages  in  a  plot 
often  does  so  with  hesitations  which  he  keeps  to  himself : 
reservations  and  saving  clauses  which  he  dare  not  publish. 
It  is  certain  that  in  that  matter  of  the  cleansing  of  the  Tem- 
ple the  Pharisees  were  on  the  side  of  Christ.  It  is  certain 
also  that  if  they  could  have  imagined  Him  strong  enough  to 
affirm  the  national  idea  they  would  have  supported  Him,  for 
there  was  not  one  of  them  who  was  not  a  zealot  for  that 
idea.  They  would  even  have  pardoned  His  invectives  against 
themselves,  upon  the  principle  that  a  party  must  not  be  too 
fastidious  in  the  use  of  the  instrument  by  which  its  ends  are 
gained.  The  case  may  be  very  briefly  put.  The  Pharisees 
were   willing  to  join  with  the  priests  in  the  overthrow  of 


THE  GREAT  RENUNCIATION        351 

Jesus,  ou  the  supposition  that  He  was  a  dangerous  impostor. 
They  were  at  oue  with  the  priests  in  recognizing  the  national 
peril  which  His  popularity  involved.  But  that  popularity 
was  only  perilous  in  the  degree  of  its  misdirection.  If  it 
could  be  utilized  for  the  ends  of  a  national  deliverance,  if 
they  could  assure  themselves  that  a  national  insurrection  was 
likely  to  succeed,  they  would  have  been  willing  to  accept 
Jesus  as  an  instrument,  to  be  kept  or  discarded  as  circum- 
stances might  decide.  Hence  the  truce  signed  between  them- 
selves and  the  Herodians,  with  whom  they  were  at  daggers 
drawn.  Hence  also  in  this  adroit  combination  against  Jesus 
there  was  the  proviso  that  the  combination  might  act  for 
Jesus  instead  of  against  Him,  if  things  should  unexpectedly 
turn  out  in  favor  of  the  conspirators. 

So  the  crowd  waits  for  the  reply,  the  unspoken  thought  in 
each  mind  being  that  the  national  destinies  are  at  stake. 
That  reply  comes  at  last  Avith  the  swiftness  of  a  flash  of 
lightning.  "  Hypocrites,"  Jesus  cries,  "  why  do  ye  tempt 
Me  ? "  He  asks  to  see  the  tribute  money,  the  common 
drachma,  stamped  with  the  eSa.gj  and  titles  of  the  reigning 
Caesar.  "  Whose  image  and  superscription  is  this  ?  "  He 
asks.  "It  is  Caesar's,"  they  reply.  "Render  them  unto 
Caesar  the  things  which  are  Caesar's ;  and  unto  God  the 
things  that  are  God's,"  is  His  decision.  It  is,  as  they  had 
more  than  half  expected,  the  reply  of  a  dreamer  and  a  child, 
with  something  of  that  rare  profundity  which  is  the  last  art 
of  simplicity.  It  is  a  reply  which  has  the  singular  demerit 
of  offending  all  parties.  "What  is  to  be  feared  from  so  simple 
an  enthusiast  ?  thinks  the  Herodian.  What  is  to  be  hoped  ? 
thinks  the  national  party.  As  for  the  crowd  itself,  the  fatal 
sentence  rung  in  every  mind,  "  Render  unto  Caesar  the  things 
that  are  Caesar's."  It  is  true  that  it  is  qualified  by  the  loftier 
sentence,  "And  unto  God  the  things  that  are  God's;"  but 


352  THE    LIFE    OF   CHRIST 

crowds  do  not  respect  nor  remember  qualifications.  To 
them  it  seems,  and  not  without  reason,  that  Jesus  has  trifled 
away  His  chances  of  a  crown.  His  words  fall  upon  them  in 
raillery,  and  derision  directed  against  themselves  is  the  un- 
pardonable sin  of  oratory  with  a  mob.  In  any  case,  even 
those  best  disposed  toward  Him  feel  that  He  is  guilty  of  an 
evasion.  He  has  not  given  a  direct  reply,  either  because  He 
dare  not  or  He  could  not.  His  friendship  with  the  Gentiles, 
His  many  reported  acts  of  courtesy  toward  Roman  officials, 
are  remembered  against  Him.  He  becomes  a  suspect  in  the 
eye  of  every  patriot.  That  extraordinary  outburst  of  rage 
which  filled  the  courts  of  Pilate  but  a  few  days  later  with  a 
mob  that  clamored  for  His  crucifixion,  is  easily  explained 
when  we  remember  these  things.  Their  preference  for  Bar- 
abbas,  a  man  under  sentence  of  death  for  sedition,  becomes 
intelligible.  Jesus  had  not  dared  to  be  seditious,  and  Bar- 
abbas  had.  He  had  led  His  followers  to  the  hour  of  struggle 
only  to  laugh  at  them,  to  tell  them  that  it  was  all  a  mistake, 
to  retreat  in  the  moment  when  the  trumpet  should  have 
sounded  the  assault.  He  was  no  patriot ;  He  was  not  even 
courageous  ;  He  was  but  a  crazed  enthusiast.  Through  that 
great  tumultuous  city,  whispered  on  the  lips  of  disappointed 
friends,  shouted  by  angry  patriots,  discussed  with  frantic 
bitterness  by  thousands  upon  thousands  of  excited  pilgrims, 
spread  the  fatal  news,  "  He  has  counselled  us  to  pay  tribute 
to  Caesar.'-'  And  then  and  there  began  to  swell  the  hoarse 
cry,  "  Crucify  Him,  for  He  is  not  fit  to  live !  " 

The  reply  was  certainly  not  free  from  the  spirit  of  raillery, 
and  yet  it  was  in  no  sense  an  evasion.  It  was  rather  a  lucid 
exposition  of  the  principles  which  were  to  guide  His  follow- 
ers in  their  relation  to  the  State,  and  which  did  control  the 
action  of  His  Church  through  all  its  earlier  eras.  The  Jew 
was  in  reality  an  anarchist,  who  was  opposed  to  any  form  of 


THE  GREAT  RENUNCIATION        353 

civil  government.  Jesus,  on  the  contrary,  recognized  in  civil 
government  an  administration  of  the  Divine  order.  Man  is 
not  an  individual  only,  but  a  social  unit.  Civil  government 
expresses  this  social  unity  in  human  life.  It  does  certain 
things  for  the  whole  community,  and  in  its  name,  for  which 
the  whole  community  must  pay.  CsBsar  had  certainly  done 
something  for  the  Jew,  for  the  Roman  power  was  the  one 
unfluctuating  force  which  provided  social  security  amid  the 
endless  feuds  and  bitter  rivalries  of  Judea.  The  contention 
of  the  Jew  was  that  all  civil  force  was  infamous.  Taxation, 
which  was  the  symbol  of  this  force,  was  therefore  infamous. 
Christ  saw  the  world  with  wider  vision,  and  with  truer  in- 
sight. Social  order  is  bound  up  with  civil  government ;  tax- 
ation is  the  price  which  the  individual  pays  for  that  order ; 
and  it  would  be  absurd  to  argue  that  taxation  may  be  op- 
tional, or  that  the  units  of  society  can  accept  the  advantages 
of  social  life  without  submitting  to  the  burdens  they  impose. 
The  tithe  paid  to  God  is  in  reality  not  a  more  religious  act 
than  the  tax  paid  to  Caesar ;  each  is  in  its  way  the  admission 
of  a  Divine  order  which  imposes  corresponding  obligations. 
This  still  leaves  the  difficulty  of  a  corrupt  or  tyrannical 
civil  government  to  be  considered.  Is  it  at  no  time  and 
under  no  circumstances  right  to  resist  an  evil  government  ? 
St.  Paul  may  no  doubt  be  quoted  as  counselling  complete 
subservience  :  "  The  powers  that  be  are  ordained  of  God. 
Whosoever  therefore  resisteth  the  power,  resisteth  the  ordi- 
nance of  God."  But  St.  Paul  may  also  be  quoted  as  suc- 
cessfully resisting  the  civil  power  when  it  was  guilty  of  pal- 
pable  injustice ;  for  who  so  keen  as  he  to  claim  his  rights  as 
a  Roman  citizen,  to  insist  upon  both  justice  and  respect  from 
civil  magistrates,  and  even  in  the  last  resource  to  appeal  tc 
Caesar  himself  for  redress  ?  The  real  point  of  Christ's  reply 
is  in  its  second  clause.  He  who  renders  unto  God  all  that 
23 


354  THE    LIFE    OF   CHRIST 

God  claims,  will  soon  discover  that  his  allegiance  to  Cae- 
sar has  its  limits.  This  was  the  crowning  offence  of 
Christianity  to  the  Roman,  that  it  transferred  the  supreme 
allegiance  of  man  from  Caesar  to  God.  It  set  up,  in  effect,  a 
higher  tribunal,  and  made  it  final.  Rome  discovered  to  her 
consternation  that  the  early  Christian  life  obeyed  a  new 
centre  of  gravity :  that  while  the  Christian  was  willing 
enough  to  pay  his  tax  to  Caesar  he  would  not  pay  his  con- 
science ;  that  while  he  behaved  as  the  best  of  citizens  in  his 
outward  demeanor,  yet  he  reserved  rights  in  himself  which 
the  jealousy  of  Caesar  could  not  touch ;  and  all  the  great 
persecutions  directed  by  Rome  against  the  new  faith  sprang 
from  the  profound  irritation  of  this  discovery.  This  saying 
of  Christ's  rightly  understood  is  therefore  the  declaration  of 
a  real  spiritual  liberty.  It  inaugurated  the  eternal  struggle 
of  the  rights  of  the  human  conscience  against  those  who  con- 
fuse civil  jurisdiction  with  spiritual  jurisdiction.  The  mere 
question  of  taxation  seemed  to  Christ  trivial;  the  larger 
question  was  the  nature  of  that  obedience  which  man  should 
»ive  to  God.  Christ's  kingdom  was  pre-eminently  a  king- 
dom of  the  truth,  and  not  of  this  world.  It  is  little  wonder 
that  in  this  hour  of  excited  patriotism  His  words  were  not 
understood ;  but  no  words  have  been  more  potent  in  direct- 
in"-  human  thought,  as  we  may  see  if  we  care  to  trace  the 
principles  which  guided  the  development  of  early  Christian- 
ity. For,  without  a  single  effort  at  insurrection,  even  under 
provocation  of  the  most  infamous  injustice,  the  first  Chris- 
tian communities  spread  a  subtle  flame  of  insurrection 
through  all  the  Western  nations ;  without  becoming  revolu- 
tionists, they  achieved  the  greatest  revolution  in  history ; 
avoiding  anarchy,  and  any  course  that  led  to  anarchy,  the 
old  order  of  society  dissolved  before  the  novel  force  they  in- 
troduced ;  seeking  no  power,  they  became  all-powerful ;  and 


THE  GREAT  RENUNCIATION        355 

the  whole  secret  of  their  extraordinary  triumph  was  that 
they  did  dutifully  the  two  things  which  Christ  commanded 
them  to  do :  they  gave  to  Caesar  the  things  which  were  due 
to  him,  they  also  gave  to  God  the  things  which  were  God's. 

After  this  discussion  in  the  Temple,  so  pregnant  with 
meaning  and  result,  because  it  marks  the  great  renunciation 
of  Christ,  His  final  and  deliberate  rejection  of  the  Jewish 
crown,  the  other  discussions  of  this  memorable  day  appear 
of  little  moment.  Yet  they  are  of  some  importance  as  show- 
ing how  concerted  was  the  attack  made  upon  Him.  It  would 
seem  as  though  His  foes,  with  some  unconscious  instinct  of 
a  final  scene  in  the  great  drama  now  close  at  hand,  ranged 
themselves  against  Him  for  a  last  encounter  with  the  best 
weapons  which  their  ingenuity  and  malice  could  devise.  No 
sooner  do  the  Herodians  and  Pharisees  leave  the  stage  than 
the  Sadducees  appear.  They  are  governed  by  the  same  pol- 
icy of  detaching  Jesus  from  His  followers,  by  putting  Him 
in  the  wrong  with  them.  They  propose  a  coarse  question 
about  the  resurrection  in  its  relation  to  marriage,  which  is 
manifestly  insincere  since  they  themselves  do  not  believe  in 
any  resurrection.  It  was  not  only  a  question  coarse  in  it- 
self, but  it  had  been  debated  coarsely  by  the  Rabbis,  whose 
refinements  of  casuistry  had  no  parallel  refinements  of  taste. 
The  reply  of  Jesus  is  beautiful  in  its  simplicity  and  truth. 
Marriage,  as  He  conceives  it,  is  not  an  accommodation  of  the 
flesh,  but  the  eternal  sacrament  of  the  spirit.  In  the  resur- 
rection flesh  is  dissolved  for  ever  ;  men  and  women  no  longer 
marry  or  are  given  in  marriage,  but  "are  as  the  angels  of 
God  in  heaven." 

"  The  earthly  joys  lay  palpable — 
A  taint  in  each  distinct  as  well ; 
The  heavenly  flitted,  faint  and  rare, 
Above  them,  but  as  truly  were  .  * 

Taintless — so,  in  their  nature  best." 


356  THE    LIFE    OF   CHRIST 

And  evermore  the  pure  soul,  to  whom  marriage  is  the  unity 
of  will  and  spirit,  will  say  with  the  dying  Pompilia  of 
Browning's  great  poem — 

"Oh,  how  right  it  is  !    How  like  Jesus  Christ 
To  say  that." 

From  the  vision  of  a  heaven  denied  and  belittled  by  the 
grossest  realism  the  eyes  of  the  multitude  are  turned  for  one 
clear  instant  to  the  heaven  of  the  spirit,  where  fleshly  bond- 
ages and  pleasures  are  alike  forgotten.  For  the  first  time 
there  dawns  irpon  the  Jewish  mind,  still  filled  with  gross- 
ness  as  in  the  days  when  their  fathers  followed  Moloch  and 
worked  abominations  in  the  groves  of  Ashtoreth,  a  true  con- 
ception of  heaven  and  its  taintless  life ;  and  it  is  uttered 
with  the  thrilling  note  of  One  who  already  stands  upon  its 
threshold,  and  awaits  its  opening  door. 

Replies  so  lofty  as  these,  teachings  of  such  astonishing 
lucidity  and  penetration,  should  have  silenced  opposition  ; 
but  the  reverse  appears  to  have  been  the  case.  There  was 
still  another  question  to  be  asked,  designed  like  all  the  rest 
to  draw  from  Jesus  some  reply  that  should  put  Him  at  odds 
with  the  popular  conceptions  of  religion.  It  was  an  old 
question,  and  one  which  He  had  repeatedly  answered ;  but 
there  was  a  certain  deadly  astuteness  in  pressing  it  upon 
Him  now,  because  in  all  this  vast  crowd  of  pilgrims  there 
was  not  one  who  was  not  a  fanatical  upholder  of  the  Mosaic 
law.  It  was  to  keep  the  law  of  Moses  that  they  had  as- 
sembled from  every  corner  of  the  world ;  to  keep  that  law 
perfectly  in  the  daily  ordering  of  life  was  the  supreme  aim 
of  every  pious  Jew.  But  this  aim,  noble  as  it  might  appear 
in  itself,  had  been  degraded  by  an  inconceivable  littleness  of 
mind,  which  spent  itself  on  every  kind  of  puerile  casuistry. 
The  Rabbis  had   invented  more  than  six  hundred  precepts, 


THE  GREAT  RENUNCIATION        357 

each  one  of  which  was  binding.  The  whole  formed  a  chain, 
which  was  no  stronger  than  its  weakest  link  ;  for  he  who 
failed  in  one  precept  failed  in  all.  Some  of  the  Kabbis  had 
so  confused  moral  principles  with  external  observances,  that 
they  actually  taught  that  the  keeping  of  the  law  was  synony- 
mous with  a  proper  attention  to  fringes  and  phylacteries,  and 
that  he  who  diligently  observed  these  merely  sumptuary 
edicts  might  "  be  regarded  as  one  who  had  kept  the  whole 
law."  "Which,  then,  was  the  great  commandment?"  And 
Jesus  answers,  as  He  has  often  answered,  that  there  is  but 
one  great  commandment — to  love  God  with  the  full  consent 
of  heart  and  soul  and  mind ;  and  if  there  is  a  second  com- 
mandment, it  is  that  men  should  love  their  neighbors  as 
themselves.  The  reply  is  really  nothing  more  than  a  pene- 
trating paraphrase  of  the  Decalogue,  which  begins  with  the 
word  "  God,"  and  ends  with  the  word  "  neighbor."  It  is  a 
paraphrase  so  noble  and  enlightened  that  at  any  other  time 
it  would  have  won  applause ;  but  to  this  fanatical  multitude, 
in  this  hour  of  popular  excitement,  it  seemed  the  careless 
speech  of  a  freethinker,  who  in  His  heart  despised  the  law. 
And  so  it  did  but  serve  to  perplex  and  alienate  yet  further 
those  ready  to  swear  allegiance  to  Him  as  a  political  Mes- 
siah. It  was  the  last  act  in  His  great  renunciation.  He 
had  submitted  Himself  in  turn  to  the  inquisition  of  the  He- 
rodians,  the  Sadducees,  and  the  Pharisees,  and  in  each  case 
had  so  answered  as  to  cast  His  vote  for  His  own  death.  He 
had  refused  the  crown  of  Israel,  and  with  His  own  hands 
had  woven  the  Crown  of  Thorns. 

As  if  to  mark  His  own  sense  of  the  irreparable  breach  be- 
tween Himself  and  His  nation,  Jesus  follows  these  replies 
with  open  and  terrible  denunciations  of  the  rulers  of  the  peo- 
ple. He  describes  them  as  hypocrites,  as  fools,  as  blind 
guides;  he  accuses  them  of  the  peculiarly  odious  form  of 


358  THE    LIFE    OF   CHRIST 

avarice  which  exists  by  the  spoliation  of  the  widow ;  of  that 
utter  lack  of  moral  perception  which  attaches  more  value  to 
the  niceties  of  ritual  than  to  justice,  mercy,  and  faith ;  of  a 
bitter  propagandist  spirit  which  will  stoop  to  any  meanness 
to  secure  a  convert ;  of  hostility  to  truth,  hatred  of  light,  in- 
competence to  recognize  Divine  messengers  and  ministries  ; 
and,  finally,  He  sums  up  their  characters  in  one  scathing 
epigram :  they  slay  the  prophets  and  then  build  their  sepul- 
chres !  Yet  even  in  this  storm  of  denunciation  softer  notes 
are  heard.  The  lips  that  had  breathed  so  many  blessings 
trembled  with  Divine  pity  when  they  uttered  these  reluctant 
curses.  "  0,  Jerusalem,  Jerusalem,  thou  that  killest  the 
prophets,  and  stonest  them  that  are  sent  unto  thee,  how  often 
would  I  have  gathered  thy  children  together,  even  as  a  hen 
gathereth  her  chickens  together  under  her  wings,  and  ye 
would  not!  Behold  your  house  is  left  unto  you  desolate." 
There  is  no  mistaking  the  accent  of  finality,  of  farewell,  that 
breathes  in  these  words.  He  will  see  Jerusalem  no  more, 
save  with  the  dimmed  eyes  of  One  who  is  driven  as  a  culprit 
through  its  streets ;  His  work  is  done.  Not  for  a  single  in- 
stant, either  in  His  triumph  or  His  controversy,  does  His  in- 
timate knowledge  of  Himself,  and  of  the  end  to  which  He 
travels,  waver.  The  ordinary  characteristics  of  the  martyr — 
the  struggle  against  circumstances,  half-frantic,  half-heroic ; 
the  fluctuating  moods ;  the  dismay  of  failure,  the  triumph  of 
recovered  hope — none  of  these  things  are  found  in  Him  now, 
nor  at  any  later  time.  His  fortitude,  His  meekuess,  His 
daring,  have  set  the  pattern  of  all  martyrdom;  yet  they  pos- 
sess qualities  of  their  own  which  no  martyr  has  displayed. 
He  remains  throughout  complete  Master  of  the  situation. 
Those  who  think  to  play  on  his  simplicity  do  but  afford  Him 
opportunity  for  the  complete  display  of  Himself.  He  utters 
no  word  He  would  retract ;  none  that  the  world  does  not  find 


THE  GREAT  RENUNCIATION        359 

pregnant  and  vital ;  none  that  is  not  essential  to  His  mission. 
Never  is  Jesus  so  truly  great,  so  much  the  victor,  as  in  this 
moment  when  the  coils  of  a  great  conspiracy  seem  most  se- 
curely fastened  on  Him. 

One  last  episode  of  this  day  of  controversy  and  renuncia- 
tion niay  be  noted.  Wearied  with  these  discussions  and 
with  the  tumult  of  opinion  they  provoked,  Jesus  turns  from 
the  crowd,  and  seeks  an  interval  of  quiet  in  one  of  those  col- 
onnades of  the  Temple,  which  lead  to  the  Court  of  the 
Women.  We  gather  from  St.  Matthew  that  His  disciples  ac- 
companied Him ;  and  they,  alarmed  and  pained  by  what  He 
had  said  about  the  approaching  desolation  of  the  holy 
"  House,"  call  His  attention  to  the  massive  grandeurs  of  the 
Temple,  which  in  truth  appear  imperishable.  But  His  eyes 
are  turned  not  upon  the  glories  of  the  Temple,  but  toward  a 
certain  widow,  manifestly  indigent,  who  is  approaching  the 
Shapharoth,  or  trumpet-shaped  boxes  which  were  placed  un- 
der the  colonnades  to  receive  the  free-wrill  offerings  of  the 
people.  The  woman  possesses  but  two  "Perutahs,"  the 
smallest  of  all  coins,  ninety-six  of  wrhich  made  the  denar, 
whose  value  was  about  sevenpence.  And  it  is  all  her  living; 
all  that  she  possesses  for  the  needs  of  the  day ;  yet  without 
scruple  she  casts  it  into  the  treasury.  And  at  the  sight  of 
this  real  munificence,  for  the  true  measure  of  all  generosity 
is  the  degree  of  sacrifice  which  it  involves,  the  eye  of  Jesus 
kindles.  There  are  still  in  the  world  the  truly  pious,  who 
are  incorrupt  amid  all  the  corruptions  of  religion.  There  are 
still  those  for  whom  piety  is  neither  ritual  nor  ostentation, 
but  sacrifice  and  faith.  From  among  those,  the  humble  and 
the  good,  shall  His  kingdom  be  built  up.  This  woman  has 
that  "  upright  heart  and  pure  "  which  God  prefers  before  all 
temples  built  with  hands.  It  is  she  who  gives  the  true  meas- 
ure of  that  innate  nobility  and  piety,  svhich  is  the  hope  of  the 


3G0  THE   LIFE    OF   CHRIST 

human  race,  and  its  truest  glory.  She  is  the  living  exposi- 
tion of  His  great  saying  that  to  love  God  and  man  is  the  sum 
and  essence  of  all  sincere  religion.  And  so,  with  one  quiet 
word,  He  drops  a  crown  upon  those  unsuspecting  brows,  and 
invests  this  humble  woman  with  a  glory  which  shall  survive 
all  the  glories  of  this  Temple,  built  by  a  man  for  whom  re- 
ligion was  subservient  to  intrigue,  and  served  by  priests  for 
whom  gain  was  godliness.  From  that  hour  Jesus  enters  the 
Temple  no  more.  How  eminently  characteristic  of  Him  it  is, 
that  His  last  act  in  leaving  the  Temple  is  to  recognize  the 
beauty  of  a  pure  and  quiet  heart !  It  is  the  final  affirmation 
of  that  great  truth  which  gave  the  lofty  keynote  to  all  His 
teaching:  "God  is  a  Spirit,  and  they  that  worship  Him, 
must  worship  Him  in  spirit  and  in  truth." 


CHAPTER   XXVI 

THE    TRAITOR 

Through  the  deep  shadows  of  the  now  nearing  end  one 
sinister  figure  has  arrested  every  eye — Judas  of  Kerioth.  On 
no  human  head  has  such  a  cloud  of  infamy  descended :  in 
all  human  history  there  is  no  man  who  has  been  regarded 
with  such  complete  abhorrence.  His  entire  biography  is  in- 
cluded in  a  dozen  sentences,  yet  so  vivid  is  each  touch  that 
the  effect  is  of  a  portrait  etched  in  "  lines  of  living  fire."  The 
Evangelists  cannot  conceal  their  detestation  when  they  speak 
of  him.  Jesus  Himself  says  of  him  that  it  had  been  better 
had  he  not  been  born.  The  most  merciful  of  men  have 
judged  him  guilty  of  inexpiable  crime.  Not  unnaturally  this 
deadly  unanimity  of  reprobation  has  provoked  protest  and 
apology,  and  it  may  be  freely  admitted  that  there  are  some 
elements  in  the  character  and  conduct  of  Judas  which  de- 
serve a  much  more  impartial  judgment  than  they  have 
received. 

Judas  was  the  only  disciple  who  was  not  a  Galilean.  He 
came  from  the  South,  where  the  spirit  of  Judaism  was  much 
stronger  than  in  the  North,  and  much  more  intolerant.  When 
and  where  Jesus  met  him  we  cannot  tell,  but  it  was  probably 
in  the  neighborhood  of  Jerusalem.  The  unwritten  chapters 
in  the  history  of  Judas  may  be  easily  supplied  from  what  we 
know  of  the  movements  of  the  time,  and  of  the  relations  of 
Christ  with  His  other  disciples.  There  was  certainly  an 
earlier  and  different  Judas,  who  possessed  some  striking 
characteristics  of  mind  and  spirit,  or  he  would  never  have 

361 


362  THE    LIFE    OF   CHRIST 

been  deliberately  selected  by  Jesus  for  the  toils  and  honors 
of  the  Apostolate.  It  is  natural  that  John,  never  himself 
conspicuous  for  charity,  should  speak  of  him  in  the  bitterest 
terms,  for  he  was  deeply  penetrated  by  a  horror  of  his  crime ; 
but  the  action  of  Christ  in  calling  Judas  to  the  Apostolate 
must  be  weighed  against  the  virulent  denunciation  of  his  fel- 
low-disciple. Somewhere  in  the  past,  which  can  only  be  con- 
jectured, we  may  discern  a  youthful  Judas,  growing  up  in  the 
devout  adherence  of  the  Jewish  faith,  conscious  of  unusual 
powers  and  distinguished  by  a  sombre  heat  of  enthusiasm, 
tilled  with  patriotic  ardor  and  deeply  moved  by  the  Mes- 
sianic hope.  In  due  time  this  youth  finds  himself  in  the 
presence  of  Jesus  of  Nazareth.  He  listens  to  a  voice  which 
stirs  his  heart  as  no  human  voice  has  ever  stirred  it.  He 
feels  the  eye  of  Jesus  resting  on  him  in  solicitation  and  inti- 
mate appeal.  The  current  of  his  life  is  turned  instantly,  and 
he  leaves  all  to  follow  this  new  Divine  Teacher.  His  sacri- 
fice is  more  complete  than  even  John's  or  Peter's,  for  he 
leaves  his  own  country  and  submits  to  the  national  odium 
which  attaches  to  all  things  Galilean.  But  it  is  probable 
that  he  was  never  quite  at  home  among  his  comrades.  He 
was  an  alien,  and  an  alien  who  claimed  superiority.  He  was 
just  the  sort  of  man  to  resent  the  kind  of  primacy  claimed  by 
Peter  and  James  and  John.  He  was  disappointed  to  dis- 
cover that  he  was  not  admitted  into  the  more  intimate  circle 
of  discipleship.  He  was  left  outside  the  house  of  Jairus 
while  the  three  favorite  disciples  were  admitted;  he  remained 
iu  Gesarea  Philippi  when  they  ascended  Hermon  with  their 
Lord ;  and  he,  the  proud  child  of  a  pure  Judaism,  was  less 
able  to  bear  this  neglect  than  the  Galilean  disciples.  Some 
dignity  he  did  obtain ;  he  became  the  treasurer  for  the  small 
community  ;  but  that  was  not  what  he  wanted.  And  so  there 
grew  up  in  the  heart  of  this  man  that  kind  of  rankling  envy 


THE    TRAITOR  3G3 

common  to  those  who  think  their  claims  neglected  and  their 
genius  despised ;  who  fill  subordinate  positions  when  they 
believe  themselves  fitted  for  the  highest  prize  of  leadership ; 
who  have  made  great  sacrifices  for  a  cause,  without  any  cor- 
responding gain  or  even  praise.  When  Jesus,  very  early  in 
His  ministry,  said  that  Judas  had  a  devil,  was  it  not  this 
devil  of  jealousy  and  envy  which  He  discerned  in  Him? 
History  certainly  teaches  us  that  jealousy  is  capable  of  the 
most  diabolic  crimes,  and  especially  the  crimes  of  treachery 
and  revenge. 

The  statement  made  by  John  that  Judas  was  a  thief,  to 
which  reference  has  been  already  made,  must  be  dismissed 
as  unproved.     It  is  not  corroborated  by  the  other  Evangelists. 
It  is,  indeed,  suggested  by  Peter  in  the  brief  account  of  the 
'Apostolate  which  he  gives  at  the  first  meeting  of  the  Chris- 
tian community  after  the  Eesurrection.     Peter  states  that 
<  this  man  purchased  a  field  with  the  reward  of  iniquity," 
but   the  phrase  is  ambiguous.     "The  reward  of  iniquity" 
probably  means  the  money  which  he  took  for  the  betrayal  of 
Christ ;  although,  in  view  of  the  unlikelihood  of  Judas  being 
able  to  acquire  land  in  the  short  time  which  elapsed  between 
the  compact  with  the  priests  and  the  arrest  of  Christ,  it  may 
be  construed  as  a  reference  to  a  course  of  fraud  which  had 
extended  over  some  years.     On  the  other  hand,  we  have  to 
consider  how  unlikely  it  was  that  Jesus  would  have  per- 
mitted a  known  thief  to  remain  a  disciple,  and  to  become  the 
treasurer  of  the  funds  of  the  community.     Jesus  Himself  at 
no  time  made  this  accusation,  and  it  is  entirely  inconsistent 
with  His  character  that  He  should  have  endured  such  a  crime 
in  silence.     He  who  rebuked  Peter  and  called  him  Satan 
could  hardly  have  allowed  Judas  to  pass  unrebuked.     We 
have  also  to  remember  that  the  relations  of  the  other  disci- 
ples with  Judas  appear  to  have  been  very  friendly  to  the 


364  THE    LIFE    OF   CHRIST 

last.  They  agreed  with  him  in  his  protest  against  the  ex- 
travagance of  Mary.  They  made  no  complaint  against  him 
to  Jesus.  They  sat  with  him  at  the  Last  Supper,  and  gave 
no  hint  by  their  conduct  that  they  even  suspected  him  of 
perfidy.  Judas  was  certainly  with  them,  not  only  at  Beth- 
any, but  in  the  triumphal  entrance  into  Jerusalem.  He  re- 
turned with  them  to  Bethany  after  this  event,  for  it  is  speci- 
fically stated  that  "the  twelve"  were  with  Jesus  on  that 
memorable  evening.  When  we  consider  the  degree  of  jeal- 
ousy which  had  always  existed  among  the  disciples ;  the 
protests  which  were  raised  against  the  arrogance  of  the  sons 
of  Zebedee ;  the  strifes  for  pre-eminence,  and  all  the  spirit 
of  criticism  which  these  strifes  engendered,  it  is  certain  that 
if  Judas  had  been  a  deliberate  thief  we  must  have  heard  of  it 
long  before.  That  he  was  parsimonious  we  know ;  that  he 
had  a  tendency  to  avarice  we  may  suspect ;  and  that  John, 
writing  after  the  event  which  cast  a  lurid  light  on  the  char- 
acter of  the  man,  should  have  exaggerated  these  tendencies 
into  a  deliberate  charge  of  theft  is  not  unintelligible,  when 
we  notice  the  rancor  with  which  he  speaks  of  Judas,  and 
remember  that  John  had  already  shown  himself  specially 
capable  of  bitter  and  narrow  judgments.  But  the  solitary 
word  of  John  is  not  sufficient  to  give  authority  to  a  charge 
so  incredible.  We  must  therefore  regard  his  words  as  the 
exaggeration  of  a  mind  capable  of  violent  repulsions,  and 
strongly  influenced  by  the  crowning  infamy  of  his  unfortunate 
fellow-disciple. 

"When  was  this  act  of  monstrous  treachery  first  designed 
in  the  mind  of  Judas,  and  what  were  the  causes  ?  We  may 
conclude,  without  much  fear  of  contradiction,  that  it  was  the 
final  sequence  in  a  long  process  of  irritation,  disgust,  and 
weariness  at  the  course  which  events  were  taking.  The  re- 
buke which  Jesus  had  addressed  to  all  the  disciples  in  the 


THE   TRAITOR  365 

house  of  Mary  would  fall  with  special  weight  ou  Judas,  be- 
cause it  was  he  who  had  protested  agaiust  the  waste  of  the 
ointment.     His  hopes  were  rekindled  on  the  next  day  by  the 
unexpected  triumph  of  Jesus ;  but  no  one  would  more  resent 
than  he  the  tears  of  Jesus  over  Jerusalem,  and  a  man  of  his 
temperament  would  judge  them  tears  of  weakness.     It  was 
with  a  mind  divided  he  reviewed  the  events  of  this  great  day. 
Jesus  had  accepted  homage  as  a  king,  and  yet  had  made 
kingship  impossible  by  the  offence  which  He  had  given  to 
all   parties.     To   the  hard,  practical  mind  of   the  man  of 
Kerioth  this  would  appear  as  criminal  trifling  with  great  op- 
portunities.    It  would  seem  almost  deliberate  betrayal  on 
the  part  of  Jesus,  who  had  led  His  disciples  to  the  point  of 
ecstatic  expectation,  only  to  disappoint  them;  and  in  the 
dark,  resentful  mind  of  Judas  the  angry  thought  took  shape 
that  He  who  betrayed  deserved  betrayal     The  events  of  the 
subsequent  day  deepened  his   disappointment  and  resent- 
ment.    They  made  it  clear  to  him  that  Jesus  never  would 
and  never  could  head  the  national  party.     With  a  singular 
perversity  his  Master  had  chosen  that  very  moment  when 
diplomacy  was  most  needed  to  attach  the  people  to  Himself, 
to  insult  the  Pharisees,  ridicule  the  Sadducees,  offend  the 
patriots,  and  finally  to  denounce  the  most  influential  parties 
iu  the  nation  in  terms  more  bitter  than  even  John  the  Baptist 
had  ever  used.     What  was  to  be  hoped  for  such  a  cause  led 
by  such  a  leader  ?     Judas  could  see  no  hope.     The  cause  he 
had   served  so  long,  amid   many  personal  slights,  had  uo 
future.     Jesus  would  certainly  be  killed  sooner  or  later,  and 
iu  the  general  disaster  His  disciples  would  be  involved.     The 
farce  of  an  impossible  Messiahship  could  not  be  sustained 
more  than  a  few  days  at  the  most ;  but  there  was  yet  time 
for  those  who  had  the  requisite  sagacity  to  make  their  peace 
with  the  priests.     So  Judas  reasoned,  and  it  is  the  reasoning 


366  THE   LIFE    OF   CHRIST 

of  a  man  thoroughly  disillusioned,  weary  of  the  part  he 
plays,  anxious  to  save  something  out  of  the  wreck  of  his  per- 
sonal fortunes,  and  keenly  conscious  in  all  his  astute  debate 
of  personal  grudges  to  be  avenged,  and  wounded  self-love 
that  cries  for  reparation. 

On  the  evening  of  the  day  when  Jesus  made  His  great  re- 
nunciation, Judas  sought  the  chief  priests,  and  made  his 
covenant  of  blood  with  them.  A  singular  phrase  used  by  St. 
Luke,  and  repeated  by  St.  John,  gives  us  a  vivid  glimpse  of 
the  condition  of  mind  of  the  unhappy  man :  Satan  had  en- 
tered into  him.  He  was  in  truth  a  man  demented.  His 
jealous  passion  had  swollen  into  such  force  that  he  was  no 
longer  capable  of  sober  reason.  He  was  mad  with  resent- 
ment, anger,  and  despair :  the  dream  of  his  life  was  shat- 
tered, and  the  spirit  of  revenge  had  become  his  only  guide. 
This  is  certainly  the  most  charitable,  and  it  is  the  most 
probable  view,  of  his  subsequent  behavior.  From  the  mo- 
ment when  he  seeks  the  priests  to  the  bitter  last  act  of  the 
appalling  tragedy,  we  are  dealing  with  a  madman,  capable 
of  a  madman's  cunning,  and  passing  through  paroxysms  of 
frantic  rage  to  the  final  paroxysm  of  frantic  grief  and  inef- 
fectual remorse. 

This  view  of  his  conduct  is  sustained  by  what  we  know  of 
his  interview  with  the  priests.  As  we  must  dismiss  John's 
accusation  of  deliberate  theft  as  unproved,  so  we  must  dis- 
miss the  theory  that  the  master  motive  in  his  betrayal  of 
Jesus  was  love  of  gain.  The  thirty  pieces  of  silver  which 
the  priests  agreed  to  pay  him  for  his  treachery  was  a  con- 
temptible price  for  the  kind  of  service  Judas  was  prepared 
to  render  them.  An  avaricious  man  would  not  have  sold 
himself  for  naught  after  this  fashion.  Nor  would  an  avari- 
cious man  have  flung  the  money  down  at  the  feet  of  the 
priests  in  the  hour  when  his  plot  was  consummated.     Avarice 


THE    TRAITOR  3G7 

is  the  coldest  of  all  vices.  It  is  impervious  to  passion,  and 
is  not  liable  to  the  tumult  of  emotion  which  rilled  the  last 
hours  of  Judas.  Had  avarice  been  the  master  motive  of 
Judas,  he  would  not  only  have  insisted  on  a  far  larger  bribe, 
which  he  well  knew  the  priests  would  have  gladly  given  him, 
but  his  subsequent  history  would  have  been  quite  different. 
He  would  have  remained  unmoved  by  the  tragedy  he  had 
provoked ;  he  would  have  congratulated  himself  that  he  had 
escaped  the  general  disaster  ;  he  would  have  gone  about  with 
a  brazen  brow,  would  have  settled  down  in  Jerusalem  in  a 
position  of  ease,  and  would  have  sought  further  advantage 
from  a  priesthood  which  lie  had  already  laid  under  eternal 
obligations.  He  did  none  of  these  things.  His  whole  con- 
duct shows  that  it  was  not  money  but  revenge  which  he 
desired.  He  was  ready  to  accept  money,  but  it  was  only  be- 
cause the  bribe  made  the  compact  sure.  It  was  the  pledge 
that  the  priests  would  not  fail  to  fulfil  their  part  of  the  bar- 
gain. To  inflict  a  deadly  blow  upon  a  Master  who  had 
slighted,  reproved,  and  disappointed  him ;  to  prove  his 
capacity  which  had  been  unrecognized  by  the  harm  that  he 
could  do ;  to  achieve  at  all  costs  the  ruin  of  a  cause  he  had 
renounced — these  were  the  real  motives  of  Judas,  and  money 
could  have  been  no  more  than  a  secondary  consideration 
amid  the  clash  of  thoughts  and  passions  so  diabolic. 

The  action  of  the  priests  in  entering  into  compact  with  the 
unhappy  man  is  made  intelligible  by  those  difficulties  of 
their  position  to  which  allusion  has  been  already  made. 
Judas  found  them  in  session,  discussing  the  old  insoluble 
problem  of  what  they  were  to  do  with  Jesus.  They  dared 
not  arrest  Him  publicly.  They  had  not  dared  to  do  it  on 
His  return  to  Bethany,  and  still  less  was  it  possible  after  the 
triumphal  entry  into  Jerusalem.  Nor  were  they  willing  that 
the  Romans   should  arrest  Him  as  a  preacher  of  sedition. 


368  THE    LIFE    OF   CHRIST 

This  would  have  precipitated  the  very  revolution  which  they 
dreaded.  The  inflammable  fanaticism  of  the  populace  would 
have  been  at  once  ignited  by  the  spectacle  of  their  hero  in 
the  power  of  the  oppressors  of  their  country.  All  His  faults 
would  have  been  forgiven ;  the  only  thing  remembered  would 
have  been  that  He  was  a  Jew,  that  He  Avas  a  Prophet,  and 
that  He  had  given  good  cause  for  being  hailed  as  the  Mes- 
siah. Revolt  would  have  broken  out,  Jesus  would  have  been 
snatched  from  the  hands  of  the  hated  Gentiles,  and  the 
streets  of  Jerusalem  would  have  run  with  blood.  The  words 
used  by  St.  Luke  give  an  accurate  description  of  the  situa- 
tion :  the  priests  "  were  glad "  when  they  saw  Judas,  and 
"  covenanted  to  give  him  money,"  because  he  promised  to 
betray  Jesus  into  their  hands,  "  in  the  absence  of  the  multi- 
tude," or  "  without  tumult."  He  was  precisely  the  sort  of 
tool  they  had  long  desired  to  find,  and  desired  in  vain.  They 
had  never  anticipated  the  good  fortune  of  detaching  one  of 
Christ's  own  apostles,  and  making  him  the  instrument  of 
their  revenge.  Here  was  a  man  who  knew  the  habits  of 
Jesus,  and  was  still  in  the  confidence  of  his  Master.  By  his 
means  Jesus  could  be  secretly  arrested.  They  could  strike 
their  blow  before  it  was  expected,  and  with  a  complete  guar- 
antee of  its  success.  The  populace  would  know  nothing 
till  they  heard  of  His  condemnation ;  and  although  they 
might  have  risen  against  the  Romans,  they  would  hardly 
dare  to  rebel  against  the  priests.  If,  in  the  end,  it  became 
necessary  to  deliver  Him  into  the  hands  of  the  Romans 
that  He  might  be  put  to  death,  His  position  would  be  to- 
tally altered  by  their  previous  condemnation.  He  would 
then  appear  not  as  a  martyred  patriot  but  as  a  dangerous 
blasphemer.  So,  on  that  fatal  night,  Judas  found  himself 
welcomed  with  an  effusion  little  expected,  and  full  of  gratifi- 
cation to  his  jealous  vanity.     At  last  he  would  play  a  part, 


THE   TRAITOR  369 

and  a  great  part,  before  the  world.  At  last  his  abilities 
would  be  recognized,  and  his  revenge  satisfied.  He  would 
be  applauded  as  the  man  who  had  appeared  in  a  moment 
full  of  peril  to  save  his  country  from  disaster ;  and  not  once 
did  it  occur  to  his  excited  mind  that  he  was  the  mere  tool  of 
men  more  cunning  and  unscrupulous  than  himself. 

It  has  often  been  suggested  that  the  deliberate  betrayal  of 
Jesus  was  merely  an  intrigue  on  the  part  of  Judas  to  force 
the  hand  of  Jesus.  The  theory  has  plausibility.  It  is  quite 
possible  that  he  may  have  imagined  that,  in  the  event  of  His 
arrest,  Jesus  would  prove  Himself  quite  able  to  take  care  of 
Himself.  It  was  hardly  credible  that  One  who  had  worked 
so  many  miracles  should  hesitate  to  work  one  more  miracle 
on  His  own  behalf  when  He  knew  that  His  life  was  in  dan- 
ger. The  overwhelming  consternation  of  Judas  when  he 
finds  that  Jesus  is  ruined  beyond  remedy  is  significant  of 
some  such  thoughts  as  these.  The  man  who  plans  a  great 
conspiracy  often  finds  too  late  that  he  has  created  a  force 
which  he  cannot  control.  He  finds  himself  swept  into  ex- 
cesses which  he  deplores,  and  pleads,  not  untruthfully,  that 
these  excesses  were  furthest  from  his  intention.  A  Kobes- 
pierre  made  the  same  excuse  for  his  reign  of  murder,  a  Louis 
XIV.  pleaded  the  same  extenuation  for  the  long  train  of  na- 
tional disasters  which  followed  the  revocation  of  the  edict  of 
Nantes.  But  the  general  judgment  of  mankind  refuses  to 
accept  these  apologies.  Judas  knew  perfectly  well  that  the 
priests  desired  the  death  of  Christ.  He  knew  when  he  took 
their  bribe  that  he  was  making  himself  an  accessory  to  that 
death.  He  had  no  right  to  calculate  that  his  plot  might 
miscarry,  while  he  took  every  means  to  make  it  a  success. 
He  had  no  justification  for  the  hope  that  Christ  might  extri- 
cate Himself  from  the  coil  of  circumstances  which  he  him- 
self created.  Nor  have  we  the  least  indication  that  Judas 
24 


370  THE    LIFE    OF   CHRIST 

was  at  any  moment  guilty  of  this  self-delusion.  He  had 
come  to  a  point  when  he  did  not  wish  his  Master  to  succeed, 
because  he  thought  Him  incapable  of  succeeding  in  the  one 
manner  which  he  himself  approved.  The  spirit  of  spite  and 
revenge  is  a  sufficient  explanation  of  his  actions.  He  had 
passed  beyond  the  range  of  sober  calculation,  and  equally 
beyond  a  lurking  faith  in  plausible  contingencies.  He  had 
become  a  bitterer  foe  of  Jesus  than  the  priests  themselves, 
because  he  hated  Him  with  all  the  rancor  of  the  apostate. 
His  subsequent  remorse  afforded  no  contradiction  of  this 
state  of  mind.  The  worst  conspirator  may  feel  some  re- 
morse when  he  sees  the  full  consequences  of  his  conduct, 
without  for  an  instant  disputing  the  logic  of  events.  Char- 
itable writers,  fascinated  by  the  problem  of  analyzing  a  char- 
acter of  much  subtlety,  may  make  the  excuse  for  Judas  that 
he  was  a  diplomatist  who  sought  to  serve  his  Lord  by 
crooked  means,  and  fell  into  the  pit  which  he  himself  had 
dug ;  but  Judas  makes  no  such  apology  for  himself. 

Nor  can  it  be  pleaded  that  Judas  merely  acted  as  a  disap- 
pointed enthusiast.  All  the  disciples  were  disappointed  en- 
thusiasts, but  only  he  sought  revenge  on  Christ  by  betraying 
Him.  It  is  sometimes  said  that  the  sin  of  Peter  in  denying 
his  Lord  was  scarcely  less  than  that  of  Judas  in  betraying 
Him ;  but  the  sins  were  totally  different  in  quality  and  na- 
ture. Any  man,  under  the  extreme  pressure  of  danger  or 
temptation,  may  deny  the  convictions  that  are  really  dear  to 
him ;  but  there  is  a  gulf  as  wide  as  the  world  between  such 
denial  and  deliberate  betrayal.  The  most  heroic  of  men  in 
some  hour  of  utter  darkness  may  sign  his  retraction  of  a 
truth  as  Cranmer  did,  and  afterward  may  nobly  expiate  his 
crime  as  Cranmer  did,  by  thrusting  his  unworthy  hand  into 
the  martyr  flame ;  that  is  weakness  of  the  will,  it  is  fail- 
ure of  courage,  but  it  is  not  deliberate   betrayal.     But   in 


THE   TRAITOR  371 

all  the  closing  acts  of  Judas  it  is  the  deliberation  of  his 
wickedness  that  is  so  dreadful.  Every  step  is  studied,  every 
move  is  calculated.  He  works  out  his  plot  with  a  steadfast 
eye,  an  unflinching  hand.  He  will  not  stir  till  he  is  sure  of 
his  compact ;  he  studies  with  astute  intelligence  the  hour 
and  place  of  his  crime ;  all  is  as  planned  and  orderly  as  the 
strategy  of  some  great  battle.  Had  he  broken  utterly  from 
Christ  in  the  moment  when  he  went  over  to  the  side  of  the 
priests,  we  might  at  least  have  pitied  him,  and,  in  part,  re- 
spected him.  We  might  have  numbered  him  with  those 
misguided  patriots  who  burn  the  idols  they  had  once  adored 
from  motives  which  are  tortuously  honest.  But  Judas  does 
not  take  this  course.  It  is  an  essential  part  of  his  hideous 
compact  with  the  priests  that  he  must  play  the  part  of  the 
loyal  friend  of  Jesus  to  the  last.  He  moves  upon  his  road 
toward  tragic  infamy  without  compunction,  without  one  back- 
ward thought,  without  a  single  pang  of  pity  or  of  old  affec- 
tion. The  most  vivid  touch  in  the  appalling  picture  is  the 
smile  with  which  he  asks  his  Master,  who  has  just  declared 
His  knowledge  that  He  will  be  betrayed — "  Lord,  is  it  I  ?  " 
Judas  knows  in  that  moment  that  Christ  is  perfectly  aware 
of  his  conspiracy,  and  yet  he  says,  "Is  it  I ?  "  He  is  so 
sure  of  success,  so  confident  that  it  is  no  longer  in  the  power 
of  the  heavy-hearted  Galilean  to  thwart  his  scheme,  that  he 
can  mock  Him  with  the  insult,  "Is  it  I?"  Morally  cold, 
intellectually  astute,  and  now  filled  with  the  deliberate  mad- 
ness of  revenge,  it  is  little  wonder  that  the  world  has  dis- 
cerned in  this  hard,  impenetrable  wickedness  of  Judas  a  sin 
beyond  forgiveness,  in  which  no  germ  of  renovating  good 
can  be  discerned. 

It  must  be  left  to  moralists  to  determine  how  far  any  dep- 
ravation of  the  human  heart  is  final,  how  far  any  sin  is  be- 
yond forgiveness ;  but  certainly  the  sin  which  all  just  men 


372  THE    LIFE    OF   CHRIST 

find  most  difficult  of  condonation  is  perfidy.  There  is  a  pe- 
culiar meanness  in  perfidy  at  which  the  gorge  rises.  The 
plighted  word  broken,  the  solemn  vow  betrayed,  the  concealed 
disloyalty  of  the  foe  who  still  plays  the  part  of  friend,  com- 
pose a  kind  of  sin  more  perilous  to  the  foundations  of  society 
than  vice  itself.  It  is  a  sin  which  strikes  at  the  root  of  all 
collective  life,  by  making  all  human  intercourse  impossible. 
Society  exists  by  virtue  of  an  exigent  and  delicate  sense  of 
honor  in  its  members.  He  who  is  called  a  gentleman  is  not 
such  by  the  merit  of  a  superior  education,  nor  superficial  re- 
finement of  manner,  nor  elaborate  acquaintance  with  the 
usage  of  society ;  but  rather  by  a  lively  sense  of  honor,  a 
delicacy  of  conscience  and  of  mind,  a  sensitiveness  to  self- 
blame,  a  scrupulous  standard  of  personal  integrity,  and  an 
overmastering  passion  for  an  unsullied  mind  and  life.  Honor 
forbids  a  man  the  least  falsity  of  word  or  act ;  it  rises  above 
all  considerations  of  personal  advantage ;  it  is  deeply  sus- 
picious of  such  advantage,  even  when  it  is  most  justified ;  it 
is  a  spirit  of  relentless  self-judgment  and  self-discrimination 
brought  to  bear  on  the  entire  purpose  and  conduct  of  life. 
And  it  is  because  men  recognize  in  honor  the  fine  flower  of 
all  virtue,  that  they  are  more  sensible  of  the  infamy  of  crimes 
of  dishonor  than  of  crimes  of  passion.  Perfidy  to  a  friend, 
to  a  cause,  to  a  country,  thus  becomes  the  offence  which  men, 
in  proportion  to  their  own  sense  of  honor,  find  it  most  diffi- 
cult to  forgive.  And  there  can  be  little  doubt  that  Jesus 
shared  these  feelings.  He  knew  how  to  distinguish,  and 
did  distinguish  sharply,  between  the  sin  of  Peter  and  the  sin 
of  Judas.  There  is  an  exquisite  tenderness  in  Christ's  man- 
ner to  Peter,  even  while  He  reveals  to  the  surprised  disciple 
the  cowardice  of  which  he  will  be  guilty ;  but  Jesus  cannot 
regard  Judas  with  tenderness.  His  charity  is  exhausted  be- 
fore a  crime  so  dreadful.     He  feels  that  remonstrance  or  re- 


THE   TRAITOR  373 

buke  is  alike  impossible.  He  sees  the  unhappy  man  posting 
to  his  doom  amid  such  a  whirl  and  clamor  of  every  furious 
passion  that  no  wiser  voice  can  now  reach  him,  or  recall 
him  to  himself.  And  so  Christ  marks  His  sense  of  the  irre- 
trievable crime  of  Judas  in  a  single  sentence :  "  The  Son  of 
Man  goeth  as  it  is  written  of  Him ;  but  woe  unto  that  man 
by  whom  He  is  betrayed !  It  had  been  good  for  that  man  if 
he  had  not  been  bom." 

If  Judas  was  utterly  insensible  to  this  plain  warning  and 
rebuke  of  Christ,  it  must  be  remembered  that  Peter  was 
equally  insensible  to  the  same  kind  of  warning.  Yet  here, 
again,  we  feel  that  we  are  comparing  things  not  strictly  com- 
parable. It  was  natural  that  Peter  should  not  admit  the  pos- 
sibility of  weakness  in  the  coming  trial,  because  he  had  hith- 
erto given  no  sign  of  such  weakness.  He  had  always  figured 
as  the  strong  man  among  the  disciples,  and  he  was  conscious 
of  no  disloyal  thought.  But  with  Judas  the  case  was  differ- 
ent, because  he  knew  himself  already  guilty  of  the  charge 
which  Jesus  brought  against  him.  He  was  not  only  a  traitor, 
but  a  detected  traitor.  Jesus  makes  it  clear  to  him  that  his 
plot  has  already  failed.  Judas  prepares  an  ambush  for  a 
victim  who  knows  his  every  movement.  An  ordinary  con- 
spirator would  have  recognized  the  futility  of  his  plot,  and 
would  have  felt  the  absurdity  of  his  own  position.  But  Judas 
was  not  an  ordinary  conspirator ;  he  was  a  man  intoxicated 
by  rage  and  vanity.  Vanity  enraged  is  a  kind  of  madness, 
and  is,  indeed,  the  frequent  cause  of  madness.  Argument  is 
wasted  on  the  man  who  crowns  himself  with  straws  and 
thinks  himself  a  king.  Throughout  the  closing  scenes  in  the 
history  of  Judas,  it  is  such  a  creature  who  confronts  us.  He 
is  at  once  dreadful,  pitiable,  and  absurd.  He  listens  with  a 
mocking  smile  of  superiority  to  words  which  would  have 
humbled  any  sane  man  into  the  dust.     His  impudent  ef- 


374  THE    LIFE    OF   CHRIST 

frontery  knows  no  bounds.  And  yet  there  is  a  vein  of  dia- 
bolical astuteness  in  all  his  reasoning.  He  perceives  what 
no  other  disciple  can  perceive — that  Jesus  means  to  die. 
Some  instinct  tells  him  that  Jesus  will  allow  Himself  to  be 
betrayed.  And  it  matters  nothing  to  him  whether  Jesus 
steps  into  the  mesh  prepared  for  Him  blindly  or  with  open 
eyes,  so  long  as  he  himself  gets  the  credit  for  His  downfall. 
Hence  the  rebuke  of  Christ,  which  would  have  brought  any 
ordinary  traitor  to  his  knees,  has  no  effect  on  Judas.  He 
smiles  his  evil  smile,  and  goes  upon  his  way,  too  blind  with 
vanity,  too  drunk  with  self-complacency  to  comprehend  his 
own  dishonor  or  discern  the  fate  to  which  it  leads. 

Yet  through  all  the  thoughts  of  Judas  there  runs  a  vein  of 
sad  sincerity.  This  becomes  most  apparent  in  the  sequel  of 
his  history.  It  is  a  man  filled  with  the  deadly  sincerity  of 
hatred  who  makes  the  compact  of  betrayal  with  the  priests ; 
it  is  a  man  filled  with  the  agonizing  sincerity  of  remorse  who 
appears  before  them  when  the  plot  on  which  he  set  his  heart 
has  succeeded  but  too  well.  He  had  been  the  hireling  of 
priests  who  despised  him  while  they  used  him ;  but  he  is  not 
so  base  as  they.  His  violent  hatred  grows  respectable  be- 
side their  cold  and  calculating  craft.  He  has  acted  like  a 
madman,  for  whom  allowance  may  be  made ;  but  they  have 
acted  as  deliberate  murderers.  He  has  planned  his  personal 
vendetta  with  a  deadly  earnestness ;  but  they  are  merely  as- 
tute politicians,  with  whom  self-interest  is  dominant.  Judas 
sees  now,  with  horror  unspeakable,  that  he  has  been  mistaken 
in  his  estimate  of  Jesus.  His  consternation,  like  his  previous 
hatred,  knows  no  bounds.  He  hears  only  the  preliminary 
examination  of  Christ  before  the  priests,  but  that  is  enough 
to  convince  him  that  he  has  betrayed  innocent  blood.  The 
blood-money  which  he  has  taken  he  dare  not  keep.  He 
rushes  to  the  Temple,  frantic  with  despair,  and  flings  the  ac- 


THE    TRAITOR  375 

cursed  bribe  at  the  feet  of  the  priests,  and  makes  his  agonized 
confession.  The  reply  of  the  priests  reveals  a  depth  of  evil 
not  found  in  the  tortured  heart  of  Judas.  "What  is  that  to 
us?  "  they  cry.  "  See  thou  to  it."  And  then  the  first  pangs 
of  mortal  agony  begin  in  Judas.  He  cannot  survive  his  own 
self-contempt.  He  cannot  regard  his  sin  as  capable  of  par- 
don or  retrieval.  It  is  not  in  him  to  make  truce  with  him- 
self, to  patch  up  the  past,  to  rehabilitate  his  own  self-respect. 
The  madness  of  ignoble  vanity  gives  place  to  the  almost  no- 
ble madness  of  intolerable  self-accusation  and  despair.  He 
will  not  live  to  see  the  end  of  Jesus.  He  will  make 
the  only  reparation  in  his  power  by  dying  on  the 
same  day  when  his  betrayed  and  martyred  Lord  shall  die. 
"And  he  cast  down  the  pieces  of  silver  in  the  Temple,  and 
departed,  and  went  out,  and  hanged  himself." 

Suicide  is  a  crime,  and  yet  there  are  circumstances  in 
which  it  almost  rehabilitates  a  character,  and  does  something 
to  atone  for  the  errors  of  a  lifetime.  There  are  occasions 
when  it  is  less  base  to  die  than  to  live.  Judas  would  have 
been  tenfold  more  odious  had  he  lived,  contented  in  his  in- 
famy, prospering  on  his  crime,  and  insensible  to  all  reproach. 
He  at  least  gave  proof  of  genuine  repentance  in  the  manner 
of  his  death.  He  died  from  horror  of  his  own  iniquity.  He 
deserves  therefore  to  be  judged  with  more  charity  than  is 
usually  extended  to  him.  It  is  the  finger  of  Pity,  not  of 
anger  and  contempt,  that  should  trace  his  epitaph.  On  the 
same  day  when  Judas  died  the  spirit  of  Jesus  descended  into 
Hades,  and  perhaps  it  is  not  a  baseless  vision  of  the  poet 
which  pictures 

"  Tormented  phantoms,  ancient  injured  shades, 
Sighing  began  downward  to  drift  and  glide 
Toward  Him,  and  unintelligibly  healed, 
Lingered,  with  closing  eyes  and  parting  lips." 


376  THE    LIFE    OF   CHRIST 

Let  us  consider  with  what  words  the  spirit  of  Jesus 
would  greet  that  wailing  ghost  of  Judas,  wandering 
through  the  populous  gloom  of  Hades,  before  we  venture 
on  his  epitaph. 


CHAPTER  XXVn 

THE   LAST   SUPPER  AND   THE   ARREST   OF   CHRIST 

It  was  probably  on  the  Wednesday  of  this  week  that 
Judas  made  his  compact  with  the  priests.  This  day  Jesus 
spent  in  retirement  in  Bethany.  Some  of  the  long  dis- 
courses reported  by  St.  John  may  have  been  uttered  on  this 
day.  Nothing  could  have  been  more  natural  than  that  Jesus 
should  have  spent  this  last  quiet  day  of  His  life  in  intimate 
revelations  of  His  own  mind  and  spirit  to  His  disciples.  He 
had  many  things  to  say  to  them,  and  He  knew  that  His  time 
was  short.  In  these  discourses  He  communicates  to  His 
disciples  the  last  testament  of  a  spirit  conscious  of  depart- 
ure. For  such  an  act  of  solemn  valediction  there  could  be 
no  more  suitable  spot  than  the  home  of  Bethany,  which  had 
so  frequently  afforded  Him  a  peaceful  refuge  from  those 
public  contentions  and  debates  which  were  now  concluded. 

There  are  several  reasons  to  support  this  conclusion,  the 
chief  of  which  is  that  it  is  extremely  unlikely  that  all  the 
elaborate  discourses  reported  in  the  fourteenth,  fifteenth,  and 
sixteenth  chapters  of  St.  John's  Gospel  could  have  been  de- 
livered in  the  brief  space  occupied  by  the  Last  Supper, 
which  was  crowded  with  incidents  and  teachings  of  its  own. 
We  may  also  recollect  Christ's  invariable  method  of  drawing 
His  analogies  direct  from  Nature ;  and  not  from  a  general 
memory  of  Nature,  but  from  those  particular  effects  which 
lay  close  to  His  hand.  The  exquisite  discourse  about  the 
vine  is  as  suggestive  of  immediate  contact  with  Nature  as 
those  passages  of  the  Sermon  on  the  Mount  which  describe 

377 


378  THE    LIFE    OF   CHRIST 

tlie  birds  of  the  air  and  the  lilies  of  the  field.  Let  us  picture 
Jesus,  then,  as  spending  this  last  quiet  day  at  Bethany  in 
the  open  air  with  His  disciples.  With  the  vineyards  spread- 
ing round  Him,  now  putting  forth  their  earliest  leaf,  Jesus 
speaks  of  Himself  as  the  Vine,  and  of  His  disciples  as  the 
1  tranches,  as  He  had  long  before  spoken  beside  the  Sea  of 
Galilee  of  His  words  as  good  seed  that  sprung  up  among  the 
weeds.  Peace  is  the  prevailing  note  of  this  day  at  Bethany. 
All  the  bitter  feuds  and  controversies  of  Jerusalem  are  for- 
gotten in  the  deep  felicity  of  One  who  has  overcome  the 
world,  and  is  saying  His  farewell  to  it. 

On  this  Wednesday  evening  the  Passover  began.  It  com- 
menced with  the  moment  when  the  first  three  stars  were 
counted  in  the  sky,  and  ended  with  the  appearance  of  the 
same  three  stars  on  Thursday  evening.  It  was  during  this 
period  that  Jesus  made  those  preparations  for  the  Passover, 
which  are  inimitably  reported  in  the  synoptic  Gospels.  He 
sent  two  of  His  disciples,  identified  by  St.  Luke  as  Peter  and 
John,  into  Jerusalem  to  secure  a  room  where  he  might  cele- 
brate the  feast.  There  can  be  little  doubt  that  the  proprietor 
of  this  room  was  a  friend  if  not  a  disciple.  It  has  been  sug- 
gested that  he  was  the  father  of  Mark  himself,  who  resided 
in  Jerusalem,  to  whose  house  Peter  came  long  afterward 
when  he  was  delivered  at  midnight  from  his  prison.  How- 
ever this  may  be,  the  instant  obedience  of  the  man  to  the  re- 
quest of  Jesus  proves  him  a  sympathizer  with  the  Galilean 
movement.  In  the  meantime  Judas,  as  the  acting  man  of 
business  for  the  little  band,  would  have  gone  to  the  market 
to  purchase  a  Paschal  lamb  for  the  intended  supper.  On 
the  afternoon  of  Thursday  the  Temple  was  a  scene  of  solemn 
and  sad  excitement.  The  evening  sacrifice  took  place  at 
half-past  three.  In  the  gloom  of  the  Temple  the  voices  of 
the  Levites   were  heard  reciting   in  mournful  cadence  the 


LAST  SUPPER  AND  ARREST        379 

pathetic  regrets  and  confessions  of  the  eighty-first  Psalm. 
Then  the  great  ceremonial  of  the  Passover  itself  commenced. 
A  long  blast  of  silver  trumpets  proclaimed  that  the  lambs 
provided  for  the  feast  were  being  slain.  Each  worshipper 
slew  his  own  lamb,  and  after  making  the  offering  to  the 
priests,  prescribed  by  the  Mosaic  law,  took  the  lamb  away, 
that  he  might  eat  it  in  his  own  house  with  his  relations  and 
friends.  While  the  blood  of  the  lamb  which  the  priests  had 
publicly  slain  was  poured  into  a  golden  bowl,  the  supplicat- 
ing strains  of  another  Psalm  filled  the  air  ;  it  was  that  very 
Psalm  which  the  children  had  chanted  in  the  Temple  on  the 
day  when  Jesus  entered  it  in  triumph  : 

"  Save  now,  I  beseech  Thee,  0  Lord  ; 
0  Lord,  I  beseech  Thee,  send  now  prosperity ! 
Blessed  be  He  that  cometh  in  the  name  of  the  Lord  ! " 

Amid  such  scenes  Judas  moved,  with  the  two  disciples  whom 
he  most  detested,  on  that  memorable  afternoon.  Through 
the  crowded  street  the  three  men  would  then  pass,  bearing 
the  slain  lamb  to  that  upper  chamber  where  the  feast  would 
be  consummated.  A  little  later,  in  the  waning  afternoon, 
Jesus  left  Bethany,  and  entered  the  city  which  was  to  be  His 
altar  and  His  tomb. 

It  must  be  recollected  that  the  Paschal  Supper  was  not  a 
public  but  a  family  festival.  It  was  also  in  a  sense  a  New 
Year's  celebration.  The  Mosaic  law  ordained  that  the  month 
of  the  Passover  should  be  "  the  beginning  of  months,"  and 
that  the  people  should  "  take  to  them  every  man  a  lamb,  ac- 
cording to  the  house  of  their  fathers,  a  lamb  for  an  house." 
We  cannot  doubt  that  Jesus  recollected  these  familiar  facts, 
and  they  now  gave  peculiar  significance  to  His  action.  For 
in  this  hour  He  heard  the  first  stroke,  not  of  a  New  Year, 
but  of  a  new  Era.     He  felt  that  the  old  was  passing,  giving 


380  THE    LIFE    OF   CHRIST 

place  to  new.  And  also  in  the  act  itself  His  relation  to  His 
disciples  has  undergone  a  subtle  alteration.  He  is  no  longer 
the  Master  only ;  He  is  the  Head  of  a  family.  Henceforth 
a  bond  more  affectionate  than  that  of  friendship  is  to  unite 
Him  with  them.  In  the  act  of  eating  the  Passover  together 
they  have  become  a  household,  the  children  of  a  common 
birth  and  destiny,  of  whom  Jesus  is  the  Head.  It  is  thus 
that  the  apostles  speak  of  Christ  as  the  Head,  and  of  the 
little  bands  of  converts  as  members  of  the  family  of  God, 
and  of  the  household  of  Faith. 

Among  all  the  closing  acts  of  Christ  there  is  none  so  sug- 
gestive, and  none  so  important,  as  this,  because  it  really  de- 
scribes the  institution  of  the  Church.  On  the  eve  of  His  de- 
parture from  the  world  He  acts  in  such  a  way  as  to  make  his 
disciples  feel  that  henceforth  they  are  indissolubly  joined 
with  Him,  in  a  relation  much  more  intimate  and  sacred  than 
they  had  ever  known  before.  All  the  words  of  Christ,  both 
immediately  before  and  at  this  Paschal  Feast,  reveal  the 
growth  of  this  idea.  St.  Luke  reports  Christ  as  saying  to 
His  disciples,  "With  desire  I  have  desired  to  eat  this  Pass- 
over with  you."  But  why  should  this  desire  be  strong  in 
Him  ?  Jesus  had  not  celebrated  the  Passover  with  His  dis- 
ciples hitherto ;  or,  if  He  had,  we  do  not  know  it.  Perhaps 
in  the  course  of  His  active  ministry  He  had  felt  Himself  so 
far  a  recusant  from  Jewish  faith  and  practice  that  He  had 
abstained  from  all  participation  in  the  Passover  celebrations  ; 
although  this  is  unlikely  when  we  recollect  His  habitual  ap- 
preciation of  all  that  was  best  in  Judaism.  But,  at  all  events, 
He  had  never  gathered  His  disciples  round  Him  as  members 
of  a  household  bound  together  by  the  sweet  solemnity  of 
common  sacrifice.  He  desires  to  do  so  now,  because  by  such 
an  act  He  affirms  their  unity  with  each  other  and  with  Him. 
His  last  discourses  are  expositions  of  this  unity.     He  con- 


LAST  SUPPER  AND  ARREST         381 

ceives  His  disciples  as  no  longer  living  separate  lives,  but 
grafted  into  Him,  as  the  branch  is  grafted  into  the  vine. 
The  same  idea  occurs  in  the  final  prayer,  immediately  before 
He  goes  forth  to  Gethsemane.     He  prays  "  that  they  all  may 
be  one ;  as  Thon,  Father,  art  in  Me,  and  I  in  Thee,  that  they 
also  may  be  one  in  us— that  they  may  be  one,  even  as  we  are 
one."     This  is  the  true  sentiment  of  the  Last  Supper.     It  ex- 
plains, and  it  alone  adequately  explains,  those  deeply  mys- 
tical words  about  His  blood  and  His  flesh,  round  which  the 
controversies  of  embittered  centuries  have  raged.     He  is  not 
content  to  leave  behind  Him  admiring  disciples  as  was  Soc- 
rates.    He  does  not  conceive  Himself  as  a  mere  Teacher,  be- 
queathing His  wisdom  to  the  world.     He  wishes  to  bequeath 
Himself.     He  wishes  to  create  an  organism  in  which  He 
shall  survive,  when  He  is  far  away  from  the  world.     And  so 
far  as  outward  form  goes,  what  can  be  more  symbolic  of  this 
purpose  than  a  final  scene  in  which  He  shall  appear  as  the 
Head  of  a  Family,  whose  members  are  as  His  own  flesh 
and  blood,  loyal  to  Him  in  the  intimacy  of  a  common  life, 
devoted  to  Him  by  a  participation  in  His  own  nature? 

Let  us  follow  the  events  of  this  memorable  afternoon  and 
evening  in  their  order.  In  the  late  afternoon  of  Thursday  Jesus 
and  His  twelve  disciples  come  to  the  upper  room  reserved  for 
them  in  the  house  of  Mark's  father,  and  the  Paschal  Feast 
commences  immediately  on  their  arrival.     The  room  in  which 
they  gathered  was  a  long  room,  containing  a  divan  which  ran 
round  three  sides  of  it,  with  a  table  in  the  centre,  on  which 
the  Paschal  lamb,  the  bitter  herbs,  the  unleavened  cakes,  and 
the  cups  of  wine  were  duly  set  forth.     We  read  of  a  conten- 
tion among  the  disciples  as  to  who  should  be  the  greatest, 
and  this  undoubtedly  refers  to  a  dispute  about  the  places 
which  they  were  to  occupy  at  the  table.     We  have  already 
seen  that  it  was  a  common  Jewish  custom  to  arrange  the 


382  THE    LIFE    OF   CHRIST 

guests  at  a  feast  in  the  order  of  their  dignity,  and  the  disci- 
ples manifested  those  petty  jealousies  which  such  a  custom 
was  certain  to  produce.  If  Jesus  followed  the  usual  order 
of  the  Paschal  Supper,  He  would  sit  not  at  the  centre  of  this 
horseshoe  table  but  at  one  of  its  wings,  and  as  each  guest  re- 
clined upon  his  left  side,  it  would  happen,  as  we  are  told, 
that  the  head  of  John  lay  clone  to  his  Master's  bosom.  On 
the  other  side  of  Jesus  was  Judas.  This  is  clear  from  the 
fact  that  Jesus  hands  the  sop  to  Judas,  and  from  the  subse- 
quent conversation,  which  appears  to  have  reached  the  ear 
of  John  alone.  We  may  picture  then  John,  Christ,  and 
Judas  seated  at  the  left  extremity  of  the  horseshoe  table, 
the  other  disciples  in  the  order  which  they  were  left  to  set- 
tle among  themselves,  reclining  round  the  table,  and  Peter 
at  the  extremity  of  the  right  wing,  and  almost  opposite  his 
Master. 

The  Paschal  ceremony  commenced  with  the  blessing  of 
one  of  the  cups  of  wine,  which  was  then  handed  round  among 
the  disciples.  It  was  customary  after  the  wine  had  been 
drunk  for  the  head  of  the  family  to  rise  and  wash  his  hands, 
and  this  custom  suggests  to  Jesus  one  of  the  most  exquisite 
episodes  of  the  evening.  The  strife  as  to  precedence  must 
have  occurred  at  the  commencement  of  the  Supper,  and  it 
therefore  seems  probable  that  Jesus  would  take  the  earliest 
opportunity  of  rebuking  a  temper  in  His  disciples  which  had 
so  often  been  a  source  of  grief  to  Him.  Such  an  opportu- 
nity came  now.  He  rises  from  the  table,  as  the  disciples 
suppose  to  fulfil  the  ceremonial  act  of  the  washing  of  hands. 
But  to  their  surprise  He  returns  with  a  towel  girded  round 
His  loins,  and  a  basin  of  water  in  His  hands,  and  begins  to 
wash  the  feet  of  the  disciples.  He  would  begin  naturally 
with  Peter,  who  sat  at  the  end  of  the  table  immediately  op- 
posite to  Him,  and  Peter  becomes  the  spokesman  of  the  gen- 


LAST  SUPPER  AND  ARREST        383 

eral  surprise.  The  washing  of  feet  was  a  task  usually  left 
to  slaves,  and  the  towel  girded  round  the  loins  of  Jesus  was 
the  symbol  of  servitude.  Peter  feels  that  his  Master  is  de- 
graded by  appearing  in  this  capacity  of  a  slave.  All  his 
generous  instincts  are  instantly  aflame,  and  to  them  is  added 
a  noble  jealousy  for  the  honor  of  his  Lord.  He  cannot  per- 
mit himself  to  lie  at  ease  on  the  divan  while  his  Lord  stoops 
to  wash  his  feet.  He  springs  up,  crying,  "  Thou  shalt  never 
wash  my  feet."  Jesus  replies  with  tenderness  that  Peter 
can  have  no  part  with  Him  unless  he  submits  to  the  act 
which  He  proposes.  It  is  in  reality  a  new  order  that  is 
being  instituted — the  Order  of  Humility.  Christ  explains 
at  length  what  this  new  order  means.  Those  common  ideas 
of  dignity  which  are  the  fruit  of  the  patrician  views  of  life 
inculcated  by  the  Komaus  are  at  once  mean  and  false.  If 
Peter  is  not  willing  to  perform  the  most  menial  act  of  serv- 
ice for  those  whom  he  deems  his  social  inferiors  he  can 
have  no  part  in  the  propaganda  of  Christianity.  Christi- 
anity will  stoop  that  it  may  conquer.  It  will  be  proud  to 
wear  the  towel  of  the  slave,  as  the  Roman  patrician  is  proud 
to  wear  the  insignia  of  his  superior  order.  Never  was 
worldly  pride  so  exquisitely  rebuked ;  for  what  disciple  can 
hesitate  to  do  acts  which  his  Master  does  not  scruple  to  per- 
form? And,  in  an  instant,  Peter  realizes  all  his  Master's 
meaning,  and  with  characteristic  ardor  cries,  "Lord,  wash 
not  my  feet  alone,  but  my  hands,  and  my  head." 

In  this  brief  address  to  His  disciples  there  is  one  phrase 
which  must  have  been  heard  with  consternation.  He  says 
— perhaps  when  He  came  to  Judas,  and  washed  the  feet  of 
the  man  whose  treachery  was  already  accomplished — "  Ye 
are  clean,  but  not  all."  This  ominous  remark  is  received  in 
silence ;  but,  as  subsequent  events  show,  it  pierced  the  heart 
for  which    it  was    intended.     From   that    instant   Judas,  in 


384  THE   LIFE    OF   CHRIST 

spite  of  all  his  effrontery,  is  uneasy.  John  is  scarcely  less 
uneasy.  He  feels  what  all  the  disciples  feel,  the  presence  of 
some  hostile  element  at  the  feast.  When  Jesus  takes  His 
place  at  the  table  once  more,  John  is  filled  with  sad  conjec- 
ture. Peter,  who  sits  immediately  opposite  him  at  the  wing 
of  the  table  which  corresponds  with  his  own,  beckons  John 
to  ask  his  Master  what  is  the  meaning  of  these  dreadful 
words.  These  two  disciples  see  distinctly  what  is  not  seen 
by  the  other  disciples,  further  removed  from  Christ  in  a 
room  where  the  dusk  has  now  begun  to  gather — the  gravity 
and  sadness  of  their  Master's  aspect.  They  hear  the  low- 
breathed  word  of  Jesus,  "  Verily  I  say  unto  you,  one  of  you 
shall  betray  Me."  John,  lying  on  the  bosom  of  his  Lord, 
whispers,  "  Lord,  who  is  it  ?  "  St.  Matthew  represents  Judas 
himself  as  whispering,  "  Lord,  is  it  I  ?  "  and  the  whisper 
travels  round  the  table,  each  uttering  the  same  sentence,  per- 
haps in  fear,  more  probably  in  protest.  There  are  moments 
when  the  bravest  man  doubts  his  courage,  when  the  best 
man  is  suspicious  of  his  virtue,  and  this  is  such  a  moment. 
Something  like  moral  panic  spreads  among  the  disciples. 
They  strain  forward  to  read  the  expression  on  the  face  of 
Christ,  and  Peter,  unable  to  speak  from  the  violence  of  his 
emotions,  still  beckons  John  with  vehement  gestures  to  get 
some  categorical  reply  from  Christ.  The  moment  in  the 
ceremony  has  now  come  when  it  was  customary  for  the  head 
of  the  family  to  take  the  sop,  which  consisted  of  a  morsel  of 
the  Paschal  lamb,  a  piece  of  unleavened  bread,  and  some  bit- 
ter herbs,  and  hand  it  to  the  member  of  the  household  who  sat 
upon  his  left  hand.  Judas  must  have  occupied  this  place, 
and  we  may  thus  picture  what  ensued.  John  whispers  his 
question  into  the  ear  of  Christ,  "  Lord,  who  is  it  ?  "  Jesus 
replies,  also  in  a  whisper,  "  He  it  is,  to  whom  I  shall  give  a 
sop,  when  I  have  dipped  it."     Instantly  the  sop  is  handed  to 


LAST  SUPPER  AND  ARREST        385 

Judas,  and  with  a  horror-struck  gesture  John  calls  Peter's 
attention  to  the  betrayer.  It  is  specifically  said  that  the 
general  company  of  the  disciples  saw  no  special  significance 
in  this  action.  They  could  not  do  so,  for  they  had  not  heard 
Christ's  low-breathed  word  to  John.  Nor  did  Judas  himself 
understand  at  first  that  Jesus  had  thus  publicly  exposed  him 
as  the  betrayer.  It  would  almost  seem  as  though  Jesus  did 
all  He  could  to  spare  the  feelings  of  the  miserable  man.  He 
whispers  to  him,  "  What  thou  doest,  do  quickly."  He  desires 
that  Judas  shall  quietly  withdraw  and  spare  Him  and  the 
disciples  the  pain  and  profanity  of  a  scene  in  an  hour  so  sa- 
cred. And  then  Judas  understands.  He  knows  himself  ex- 
pelled from  the  brotherhood  ;  and  although  his  expulsion  is 
accomplished  with  such  delicacy  that  his  fellow-disciples 
suppose  Jesus  has  simply  sent  him  on  some  errand  con- 
nected with  the  affairs  of  the  community,  not  the  less  a 
deadly  rage  burns  in  his  heart.  He  rises  hastily  and  rushes 
from  the  guest-chamber ;  and,  says  St.  John,  with  one  of 
those  intense  touches  which  lays  bare  the  heart  of  all  the 
secret  tragedy  of  the  man  and  of  the  hour,  "  It  was  night." 

The  Paschal  meal  now  proceeded  to  its  close,  and  some  of 
those  highly  mystic  sayings  of  Christ  reported  by  St.  John 
may  have  been  uttered  now.  If  it  is  likely  that  the  apologue 
about  the  vine  and  the  branches  was  spoken  on  the  previous 
day  among  the  vineyards  of  Bethany,  it  is  almost  certain 
that  the  immortal  fourteenth  chapter  of  St.  John's  Gospel 
was  uttered  now.  St.  John,  in  the  order  of  these  discourses, 
adopts  the  principle  common  to  the  Evangelists,  and  especi- 
ally noticeable  in  St,  Luke,  of  combining  such  teachings  of 
Christ  as  seemed  mutually  relevant,  But  the  fourteenth 
chapter  of  St.  John's  Gospel  is  an  exquisite  valediction  that 
could  be  spoken  at  no  time  so  fittingly  as  at  the  Supper  it- 
self. The  hearts  of  these  men  were  now  deeply  troubled, 
25 


386  THE    LIFE    OF   CHRIST 

and  it  was  such  peaceful  words  that  they  needed  as  an  anti- 
dote to  trouble.  The  declaration  of  Jesus  that  He  is  about 
to  leave  them,  the  remonstrance  of  Thomas  that  they  know 
not  what  His  words  portend,  the  curious  request  of  Philip 
that  He  would  show  them  the  Father,  the  pathetic  reproach 
of  Christ  that  He  had  been  so  long  with  them,  and  yet  they 
had  not  known  Him — all  these  are  surely  parts  of  a  conver- 
sation at  the  Paschal  Supper.  And  then,  in  the  midst  of  this 
conversation,  a  new  and  profoundly  significant  idea  possesses 
the  mind  of  Christ.  The  Paschal  Feast  ended  with  the 
blessing  of  a  third  cup  of  wine,  which  was  passed  round  the 
table  as  the  other  cups  had  been.  It  is  of  this  cup  that 
Jesus  now  says,  "  Drink  ye  all  of  it,  for  it  is  My  blood  of 
the  new  testament,  which  is  shed  for  many  for  the  remission 
of  sins."  And  in  the  same  instant  He  takes  a  piece  of  the 
unleavened  bread,  and  blesses  it,  and  breaks  and  says, 
"  Take,  eat,  this  is  My  body."  It  was  at  this  moment  that 
the  Paschal  Feast  truly  ended,  and  the  affecting  rite  of  the 
Last  Supper  took  its  place.  Jesus,  with  a  single  pregnant 
word,  changed  a  national  into  a  personal  commemoration. 
His  disciples  were  henceforth  to  eat  bread  and  drink  wine, 
not  remembering  the  past  of  a  nation  whose  history  was 
closed,  but  remembering  Him,  in  whom  all  nations  found 
their  history.  The  most  solemn  rite  of  Judaism  thus  gave 
birth  to  the  most  solemn  rite  of  Christianity,  by  means  of 
which  through  all  time  men  and  nations  were  to  affirm  their 
allegiance  to  Him  who  had  become  the  Head  and  Saviour  of 
the  human  family  by  the  perfect  sacrifice  and  oblation  of 
Himself. 

We  need  not  discuss  the  tangled  theologies  of  the  Euchar- 
ist. The  idea  which  was  in  the  mind  of  Christ  is  so  simple 
that  the  wayfaring  man,  though  a  fool,  can  scarcely  fail  to 
understand  it.     Let  us  again  recollect  that  when  Jesus  held 


LAST  SUPPER  AND  ARREST        387 

he  Paschal  Feast  with  His  disciples  it  was  with  the  deliber- 
ate intention  of  constituting  Himself  the  Head  of  a  family. 
He  wished  to  bind  these  men  to  Himself  by  some  closer 
bond  than  mere  discipleship.  It  is  but  an  extension  of  this 
idea  to  conceive  them  as  nourished  by  His  own  flesh  and 
1)1  >od.  The  child  is  thus  nourished  on  the  life  of  the  par- 
ent, and  is  as  the  parent's  self ;  so  He,  as  the  Head  of  the 
family,  desires  these  men  to  be  Himself  reincarnated.  By 
Avhat  symbol  can  this  idea  be  expressed  so  lucidly  as  by 
that  which  Jesus  used?  The  bread,  passing  into  their 
bodies,  and  assimilated  into  their  life,  is  the  symbol  of  His 
own  life,  which  nourishes  theirs.  The  wine,  mingling  in 
their  blood,  is  the  wine  of  life,  drawn  from  His  own  veins, 
and  poured  into  theirs.  And,  by  using  the  simple  elements 
of  bread  and  wine  as  the  symbol  of  His  idea,  He  ensured 
that  it  should  never  be  forgotten.  Henceforth  these  men 
would  never  eat  bread  without  thinking  of  Him,  nor  drink 
wine  without  remembering  His  death.  He  had  used  almost 
the  same  words  long  before,  after  the  feeding  of  the  multi- 
tude, when  He  had  called  Himself  the  Bread  of  Life,  and 
had  said,  "  M}'  flesh  is  meat  indeed ;  My  blood  is  drink  in- 
deed." He  had  been  careful  then  to  guard  His  words  from 
misinterpretation,  by  declaring  that  they  were  mystic  and 
not  literal :  "  It  is  the  spirit  that  quickeneth,  the  flesh  profit- 
eth  nothing ;  the  words  that  I  speak  unto  you,  they  are 
spirit,  and  they  are  life."  If  He  did  not  repeat  the  cpialifica- 
tion  now,  it  was  because  He  deemed  it  unnecessary.  He 
never  dreamed  that  these  men,  gross  as  they  often  were  in 
apprehension,  could  misunderstand  Him  to  such  an  incred- 
ible degree  as  to  take  Him  literally.  And  incredible  it  must 
still  seem,  did  we  not  know  of  what  dense  stupidity  the  hu- 
man mind  is  capable,  that  men  should  deprive  this  last  pa- 
thetic scene  of  all  its  poetry  and  grace,  all  its  piety  and  spir- 


388  THE    LIFE    OF   CHRIST 

itual  significance,  by  hardening  it  into  a  dogma,  utterly 
repellant  to  the  reason,  and  equally  repellant  to  the  delicate 
instincts  of  the  spirit,  for  which  seas  of  blood  have  been 
shed,  and  crusades  of  bigoted  intolerance  waged  through  so 
many  generations.  Remembering  these  things,  the  lover  of 
his  race  will  almost  regret  that  Jesus  ever  spoke  words  so 
perilously  beautiful ;  and  yet,  if  he  be  also  a  lover  of  Jesus, 
he  will  recognize  that  in  these  words  the  very  soul  of  Jesus 
exhaled  its  divinest  perfume  and  breathed  its  tenderest  mes- 
sage to  the  world. 

We  may  now  resume  what  appears  to  be  the  probable 
order  of  events.  Jesus  has  taught  the  disciples  the  final 
lesson  of  humility  at  the  beginning  of  the  Feast,  after  the 
blessing  of  the  first  cup.  He  has  deeply  alarmed  them  by 
the  distinct  statement  that  one  of  them  will  betray  Him.  He 
has  dismissed  Judas  with  a  word,  breathed  into  his  car, 
which  but  one  of  the  disciples  heard ;  and  John  and  Peter 
alone  have  recognized  Judas  as  the  traitor.  He  has  com- 
forted the  eleven  with  the  immortal  words,  "Let  not  your 
hearts  be  troubled ;  ye  believe  in  God,  believe  also  in  Me.  I 
go  to  prepare  a  place  for  you."  This  exquisite  discourse  is 
closed  by  the  solemn  prayer  in  which  Christ  commends  Him- 
self and  His  disciples  to  the  Father :  "  I  have  glorified  Thee 
on  the  earth ;  I  have  finished  the  work  which  Thou  gavest 
Me  to  do.  I  have  manifested  Thy  name  unto  the  men  which 
Thou  gavest  Me  out  of  the  world.  I  pray  for  them  which 
Thou  hast  given  Me.  And  all  mine  are  Thine,  and  Thine  are 
mine  ;  and  I  am  glorified  in  them."  The  prayer  is  followed 
by  the  singing  of  a  Psalm,  which  was  certainty  one  of  those 
prescribed  in  the  ritual  of  the  Passover.  We  cannot  tell 
with  accuracy  which  Psalm  was  chosen,  but  it  was  probably 
the  one  hundred  and  eighteenth,  with  its  courageous  words 
so  appropriate  to  such  an  hour,  "  The  Lord  is  on  my  side  :  I 


LAST  SUPPER  AND  ARREST        389 

will  not  fear  what  man  can  do  unto  me;"  and  its  noble  close, 
"  0  give  thanks  unto  the  Lord,  for  He  is  good ;  His  mercy 
endureth  forever."  If  we  may  transpose  a  single  sentence 
from  the  fourteenth  chapter  of  St.  John's  Gospel  to  the 
seventeenth,  we  complete  the  unity  of  the  whole  scene. 
"Arise,  let  us  go  hence!"  is  the  signal  of  departure,  and 
could  scarcely  have  been  uttered  before  the  final  prayer.  It 
should  follow  the  prayer,  and  then,  in  the  words  of  St.  John, 
"  When  Jesus  had  spoken  these  words  He  went  forth  with 
His  disciples  over  the  brook  Kedron." 

One  more  episode  is  recorded  which  is  full  of  pathos.  It 
was  after  the  hymn  had  been  sung,  and  on  the  way  to  the 
Mount  of  Olives,  that  Jesus  declared  that  all  should  be  of- 
fended in  Him  that  night,  and  that  the  Shepherd  would  be 
smitten  and  the  sheep  scattered.  The  words  are  perhaps  an 
echo  from  the  Psalm  which  had  just  been  sung  :  "  All  nations 
compassed  me  about ;  they  compassed  me  about  like  bees ; 
Thou  hast  thrust  sore  at  me  that  I  might  fall."  On  one  dis- 
ciple's ear  these  words  fell  not  so  much  in  warning  as  in  ac- 
cusation. Peter,  who  has  recognized  the  traitor,  who  is  filled 
with  horror  at  his  perfidy,  who  has  armed  himself  with  a 
sword,  suspecting  some  midnight  violence,  cannot  bear  to 
think  that  his  Master  suspects  him  of  disloyalty.  He  replies 
with  generous  vehemence  :  "  Although  all  shall  be  offended, 
yet  will  not  L"  It  is  intolerable  that  Jesus  should  suppose 
him  such  an  one  as  Judas,  and  he  is  stung  to  the  quick  by 
the  thought  that  Jesus  can  imagine  ill  of  him.  But  Jesus 
knows  His  disciple  better  than  he  knows  himself.  "  Verily 
I  say  unto  thee,  that  even  in  this  night,  before  the  cock  crow, 
thou  shalt  deny  Me  thrice."  To  this  prophecy,  so  painful 
and  so  incredible,  Peter  replies  with  yet  more  vehement  pro- 
testation :  "If  I  should  die  with  Thee,  I  will  not  deny  Thee 
in  any  wise ; "  and  the  whole  band  of  the  disciples,  attracted 


390  THE    LIFE    OF   CHRIST 

by  the  dispute,  gather  round  Peter,  and  each  lifts  his  hand 
and  utters  a  vow  of  heroic  allegiance  to  the  death.  Jesus 
does  not  reply  again.  In  painful  silence  the  little  group 
moves  down  the  steep  hill  to  the  brook  Kedron ;  they  cross 
it,  and  come  to  the  olive-garden  which  is  called  Gethsemane. 
And  there,  for  the  first  time,  the  composure  of  Jesus  seems 
to  give  way.  He  begins  to  be  sore  amazed  and  very  heavy. 
"With  the  most  tender  thoughtfulness  He  hides  this  sorrow 
from  the  disciples.  He  leaves  them  under  the  olive-trees 
near  the  gate  of  the  garden,  and  Himself  goes  further  into 
the  shadow  of  the  trees  that  He  may  pray.  The  disciples, 
worn  out  with  fatigue  and  agitation,  are  soon  asleep.  But 
Jesus  prays  on,  His  soul  now  shaken  with  an  agony  which 
produces  a  sweat  of  blood.  The  first  horror  of  death  is  upon 
Him,  the  first  dreadful  pang  of  dissolution  is  foretasted.  He 
prays  that  if  it  be  possible  the  cup  may  pass  from  Him,  for 
now  that  death  is  near,  through  all  His  members  there  is 
mutiny,  an  indignant  opposition  of  every  atom  of  His  being 
to  man's  direst  foe,  an  infinite  repugnance  to  the  tyranny  of 
death.  And  yet  the  spirit  triumphs  over  the  shrinking  flesh. 
The  last  battle  is  fought  and  won  when  He  cries  to  God, 
"Nevertheless  not  what  I  will,  but  what  Thou  wilt."  From 
this  moment  the  Divine  calm  of  Jesus  is  unbroken.  It  is  He 
who  wakes  the  disciples  who  should  have  been  His  guard ; 
He  who  first  discerns  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  valley  an 
armed  band  approaching ;  He  who  first  declares  that  the 
hour  has  come,  and  the  betrayer  is  at  hand.  Flight  was  still 
possible,  but  no  thought  of  flight  is  in  His  mind.  He  goes 
forth  to  meet  His  enemies.  He  surrenders  to  them  rather 
than  is  taken  by  them.  The  words  spoken  long  since  are 
now  visibly  fulfilled  :  He  lays  down  the  life  which  no  man 
could  take  away  from  Him. 

The  arrest  of  Jesus  had  been  planned  with  deadly  skill, 


LAST  SUPPER  AND  ARREST        391 

When  Judas  left  the  house  of  Mark  he  went  at  once  to  the 
priests,  eager  to  complete  his  task.  He  probably  knew  from 
the  conversation  at  the  Supper  that  Jesus  meant  to  go  to 
Gethsemane  for  prayer  and  meditation,  and  no  place  could 
be  better  suited  for  his  purpose.  Perhaps  it  was  this  knowl- 
edge, as  well  as  the  knowledge  that  Christ  had  read  his 
heart,  which  drove  him  so  hurriedly  from  the  table.  He 
knew  thai;  this  midnight  visit  to  Gethsemane  gave  him  a 
chance  that  might  never  come  again.  The  priests  were 
equally  conscious  of  their  opportunity.  It  is  probable  that 
they  at  once  communicated  with  the  Roinan  cohort  which 
was  detailed  for  the  duty  of  keeping  public  order  in  the 
Passover  week.  They  may  even  have  communicated  with 
Pilate  himself,  representing  that  a  dangerous  revolutionary 
was  abroad,  whose  arrest  was  necessary  to  the  public  safety. 
It  was  certainly  a  band  of  Roman  soldiers  who  arrested 
Jesus,  and  this  accounts  for  the  odious  act  of  Judas  in 
betraying  Him  by  a  kiss.  There  was  no  one  in  the  band 
sent  for  His  arrest  who  knew  Him,  and  it  was  necessary  to 
identify  Him.  Judas,  as  he  led  the  soldiers  toward  the  re- 
cesses of  the  olive-garden,  "gave  them  a  token,"  saying, 
"Whomsoever  I  shall  kiss,  the  same  is  He."  And  so  he 
kissed  Him  :  not  timidly,  or  as  a  formal  act,  but,  as  the  word 
leads  us  to  infer,  with  effusion  and  many  times.  It  is  in  this 
moment  that  Judas  appears  truly  despicable.  It  is  in  this 
moment  also  that  Jesus  appears  in  all  the  dignity  of  moral 
heroism.  As  if  to  show  Judas  how  unmeaning  was  that  kiss 
of  identification,  He  identifies  Himself ;  "  saying,  Whom  seek 
ye?  And  they  answered,  Jesus  of  Nazareth.  Jesus  saith 
unto  them,  I  am  He."  And  then  occurs  the  saddest  episode 
in  all  this  night  of  sorrow.  In  the  very  moment  while  Jesus 
pleads  that  His  disciples  may  not  be  arrested  with  Him, 
utter  panic  seizes  them,  and  they  all  forsake  Him  and  flee. 


392  THE    LIFE    OF   CHRIST 

So  He  passes  alone,  but  still  majestic,  through  the  moonlit 
garden,  across  the  Kedron,  and  along  the  opposite  slope  to 
the  house  of  Hanan.  The  work  of  Judas  is  complete,  and 
He  has  earned  his  wages. 


CHAPTER  XXVIII 

THE   TRIAL   OP   JESUS 

Jesus  was  taken  immediately  upon  His  arrest  to  the  Louse 
of  Annas,  or  Hanan.  This  circumstance  alone  is  sufficient 
to  identify  Hanan  as  the  chief  mover  in  the  plot  which  led  to 
the  overthrow  of  Christ.  He  had  long  thirsted  for  vengeance 
on  the  Man  who  had  dared  to  attack  the  system  of  legalized 
extortion  by  means  of  which  he  and  his  family  had  acquired 
enormous  wealth.  In  all  probability  it  was  he  who  had  con- 
ducted the  negotiations  with  Judas.  His  malice  and  his  en- 
mity were  now  gratified.  What  the  united  Sanhedrim  had 
been  unable  to  achieve  by  legal  means  he  had  accomplished 
by  unscrupulous  stratagem.  Judas  was  the  first  to  inform 
him  that  Jesus  was  now  safely  delivered  into  his  hands 
"without  tumult."  He,  in  turn,  informs  Caiaphas,  and  the 
members  of  the  Sanhedrim  are  hastily  assembled.  Thus,  at 
dead  of  night,  with  no  attempt  to  observe  legal  forms,  the 
mock  trial  of  the  Nazarene  commenced. 

But  no  sooner  does  the  examination  of  Christ  begin,  than 
it  is  quite  evident  that  there  will  be  great  difficulty  in  proving 
any  serious  charge  against  Him.  Jesus  is  Himself  fully  con- 
scious of  the  strength  of  His  position.  When  He  is  ques- 
tioned concerning  His  teachings  He  replies  boldly  that  His 
teachings  have  been  sufficiently  public  for  all  the  world  to 
know  their  import.  If  they  desire  to  know  what  these  teach- 
ings were  Jerusalem  can  supply  a  thousand  witnesses.  The 
boldness  and  justice  of  this  reply  fills  the  priests  with  angry 
amazement.  They  see  the  prisoner,  for  whose  arrest  they 
had  so  long  plotted,  slipping  through  their  hands,  and  in 

393 


394  THE    LIFE    OF   CHRIST 

their  anger  they  permit  Him  to  be  struck  upon  the  mouth  by 
one  of  their  own  officers.  They  are  the  more  angry  because 
they  already  stand  committed  to  Pontius  Pilate.  When 
Pilate  placed  at  their  disposal  the  Roman  guard  for  the  ar- 
rest of  Christ,  it  was  with  the  distinct  understanding  that  a 
dangerous  revolutionary  was  to  be  arrested,  and  Pilate  is  not 
the  kind  of  man  to  accept  a  ridiculous  position  without  re- 
sentment. Already  they  foresee  those  difficulties  with  Pilate 
which  afterward  occurred.  Pilate  will  certainly  demand 
some  conclusive  evidence  of  crime  before  he  will  pronounce 
a  sentence  of  death  which  they  are  incompetent  to  execute. 
But  what  proof  of  guilt  have  they  to  offer?  They  seek 
eagerly  for  false  witnesses,  who  may  say  something  to  in- 
criminate their  prisoner;  but  to  their  dismay  the  testimony 
of  each  of  these  men  proves  worthless.  The  worst  that  the 
most  abandoned  of  these  bribed  ruffians  can  say  is  that  Jesus 
had  once  threatened  the  destruction  of  the  Temple.  At  last, 
in  despair,  Caiaphas  appeals  to  the  prisoner  Himself.  He 
adjures  Him  by  the  living  God  to  declare  whether  He  is  in 
truth  the  Christ,  the  Son  of  God.  And  from  those  smitten 
lips  the  reply  rings  clear  and  loud,  "  Thou  hast  said,"  which 
was  the  strongest  form  of  affirmation.  With  what  seems  to 
them  insensate  folly,  with  what  seems  to  us  deliberate  ac- 
quiescence in  a  fate  which  He  felt  foreordained,  Christ  con- 
demns Himself.  Once  more  we  will  see  how  truly  the  ini- 
tiative of  events  is  from  first  to  last  in  His  own  hands ;  for 
had  Jesus  not  spoken  He  must  have  been  acquitted.  The 
question  is  at  once  put  to  the  Sanhedrim,  "  What  think  ye  ?  " 
The  answer  is  unanimous,  "He  is  guilty  of  death."  And 
then,  as  if  to  show  how  little  of  a  court  of  justice  this  tribu- 
nal was,  the  malice  of  its  members  breaks  all  bounds,  and 
the  hall  of  Caiaphas  becomes  a  scene  of  insult,  violence,  and 
degraded  rage.     "  Then  did  they  spit  in  His  face,  and  buffeted 


THE  TRIAL  OF  JESUS  395 

Hrrn ;  and  others  smote  Hiin  with  the  palms  of  their  hands, 
saying,  Prophesy,  thou  Christ,  who  is  he  that  smote  Thee?  " 
Nothing  in  the  history  of  Jesus,  nothing  perhaps  in  the 
history  of  the  world,  is  so  appalling  as  this  scene  in  the 
house  of  Caiaphas.  Jesus  was  after  all  the  true  Son  of  the 
Jewish  Church,  the  Divine  flower  of  her  life,  the  perfect  fruit 
of  her  teaching,  and  yet  it  was  this  very  Church  which  slew 
Him.  In  the  little  Jewish  synagogue  at  Nazareth  He  had 
learned  all  that  He  knew  of  the  Hebrew  Scriptures.  His 
first  boyish  excursion  had  been  to  the  Temple  at  Jerusalem, 
where  the  doctors  of  the  law  had  treated  Him  as  a  prodigy. 
His  teachings  were  full  of  quotations  from  the  Hebrew  Scrip- 
tures, and  He  often  declared  that  He  came  not  to  destroy  the 
law  and  the  prophets,  but  to  fulfil  them.  His  career  had 
been  characterized  by  the  utmost  benevolence.  In  this  dis- 
astrous hour,  when  many  false  witnesses  came — hirelings 
and  informers  of  the  Sanhedrim,  the  paid  creatures  of  Hanan 
and  Caiaphas — ready  to  swear  anything  for  money,  it  was 
impossible  to  prove  anything  to  his  discredit.  His  life  had 
been  lived  in  the  honest  daylight,  and  there  was  nothing  hid- 
den in  it  of  which  he  was  afraid,  no  record  that  could  leap 
to  light  to  shame  Him.  The  Court  of  Caiaphas  was  the  su- 
preme tribunal  of  the  national  religion,  and  yet  a  glance  is 
sufficient  to  assure  us  that  it  is  not  a  court  of  justice,  but  a 
conclave  of  conspirators.  Hatred,  envy,  and  cruelty  cast 
baleful  shadows  on  every  brow.  It  is  a  league  of  wolves 
against  the  Lamb.  It  is  a  hideous  assembly,  paralleled  by 
that  majestic  and  appalling  vision  of  Satan  and  his  fallen  an- 
geis  which  the  genius  of  Milton  has  made  immortal ;  for  even 
so  Hanan  towers  amid  the  gloom  of  that  disastrous  night — 

.     .     .     ' '  His  face 
Deep  sears  of  thunder  had  intrencht,  and  care 
Sat  on  his  faded  cheek,  but  under  brows 
Of  dauntless  courage,  and  considerate  pride 
Waiting  revenge." 


39G  THE    LIFE    OF   CHRIST 

AhJ  that  shout  of  rage  which  filled  the  air  when  Jesus  called 
Himself  the  Son  of  God  tore  indeed  "Hell's  conclave,"  and 
"  frighted  the  reign  of  Chaos  and  old  Night."  This  was  the 
final  goal  to  which  avarice,  lust  of  power,  and  pride  of  ortho- 
doxy had  conducted  the  greatest  priesthood  in  the  world,  to 
whom  had  been  committed  the  custody  of  the  divinest  truths. 
Upon  the  benches  of  this  proud  ecclesiastical  assembly  sat 
no  longer  men,  but  so  many  incarnate  hatreds,  thirsting  and 
foaming  for  their  prey,  compared  with  whom  the  host  which 
followed  "the  archangel  ruined"  appear  almost  as  angels  of 
light.  That  power  of  acute  spiritual  analysis,  which  had  led 
Jesus  so  often  to  declare  sins  of  temper  more  deadly  in  their 
ultimate  effects  than  the  worst  vices  of  the  flesh,  now  stood 
justified.  The  clearest  spiritual  observers  have  never  failed 
to  recognize  this  truth,  and  thus  a  Dante  thrusts  Pride  into 
the  same  hell  with  Impiety,  while  he  is  content  to  scorch  the 
profligate  in  a  cleansing  flame  through  whose  clouds  voices 
are  heard  which  pray  not  in  vain  to  that  Lamb  of  God  who 
taketh  away  the  sins  of  the  world.  The  brutalities  of  big- 
otry far  exceed  the  worst  brutalities  of  passion ;  and  this  we 
see  in  that  hideous  movement  of  revenge  which  hurls  the 
whole  Sanhedrim  like  a  pack  of  wolves  upon  a  defenceless 
prisoner. 

The  examination  of  Christ,  if  such  it  may  be  called,  in  the 
house  of  Caiaphas  could  not  have  taken  long.  John,  through 
his  acquaintance  with  Caiaphas,  the  exact  nature  of  which 
we  do  not  know,  had  been  permitted  to  accompany  his  Mas- 
ter into  the  Hall  of  Judgment.  It  is  astonishing  to  find  that 
this  disciple,  who  but  a  few  hours  earlier  had  lain  on  Jesus' 
bosom  at  supper,  and  had  received  His  confidences,  now 
makes  no  attempt  to  shield  Him  from  indignity,  and  offers 
no  word  of  testimony  on  His  behalf.  The  cowardice  of 
Peter  has  been  the  text  of  innumerable  sermons,  yet  the 


THE  TRIAL  OF  JESUS  397 

cowardice  of  John  was  much  more  despicable,  because  he 
must  have  witnessed  the  brutal  attacks  made  upon  his  Lord. 
He  who  was  so  eager  to  call  Judas  a  thief  appears  to  have 
had  no  consciousness  of  the  paltriness  and  infamy  of  his 
own  behavior.  Had  Peter  seen  the  blows  that  fell  upon  his 
Lord,  he  might  have  been  saved  from  his  denial,  for  the  man 
who  had  already  drawn  a  sword  to  defend  Jesus  from  arrest 
would  never  have  consented  to  stand  dumb  and  helpless  in 
such  a  scene  of  violence.  But  Peter  saw  none  of  these 
things.  Probably  he  did  not  recognize  the  seriousness  of 
the  situation.  He  imagined  that  Christ  would  soon  be  ac- 
quitted, and  he  sat  in  the  outer  court  among  the  servants, 
waiting  for  news.  His  strong,  sanguine  temperament  could 
not  believe  that  the  worst  was  about  to  happen,  and  this  is 
the  explanation  of  his  conduct.  He  is  determined  to  give  no 
kind  of  information  about  hiinself  or  his  Master  which  shall 
compromise  a  movement  which  he  imagines  is  but  tempor- 
arily arrested.  He  acts  with  the  blundering  astuteness  of  a 
simple-minded  man,  with  a  kind  of  false  sagacity  which  ex- 
cites pity  rather  than  contempt.  When  he  is  accused  of  be- 
ing a  disciple  he  promptly  denies  it.  When  one  of  the 
kinsmen  of  Malchus  accuses  him  of  being  in  the  Garden 
with  Christ,  he  denies  again.  When  he  is  told  that  his  very 
speech  proves  him  a  Galilean,  he  denies  yet  again,  and  this 
time  with  oaths  and  curses.  And  it  is  at  this  crisis  that 
through  the  grey  of  dawn  there  is  heard  the  crowiug  of  a 
cock,  and  it  is  as  though  a  bell  of  judgment  called  him  to 
the  court  of  conscience.  A  horror  too  deep  for  words  falls 
upon  the  mind  of  Peter.  It  was  at  this  moment,  according 
to  St.  Luke,  that  the  doors  of  the  Judgment  Hall  were  flung 
back  and  Jesus  came  forth  bound  and  bruised,  and  looked 
on  Peter.  Violent  emotion  overwhelmed  the  unhappy  man, 
and  he  rushed  away  from  the  glance  of  those  reproachful 


398  THE    LIFE    OF   CHRIST 

eyes,  and  wept  bitterly.  And  while  Peter  thus  wept,  hotter 
tears  of  rage  and  shame  flowed  from  the  eyes  of  another 
miserable  disciple.  When  Caiaphas  rose  from  the  seat  of 
judgment  Judas  cried  in  horror,  "  I  have  betrayed  innocent 
blood.'.'  He  had  heard  the  mock  trial  of  Jesus,  had  seen 
Him  condemned  and  insulted,  and  he  Avas  terrified  at  the 
part  which  he  had  plaj-ed.  His  eye  also  had  caught  the 
eye  of  Jesus  as  He  went  out  to  die,  and  he  sank  before  its 
glance  in  abject  horror.  Let  us  not  seek  to  mitigate  the  of- 
fence of  Peter  or  of  Judas  in  this  dreadful  scene ;  yet  there 
was  one  disciple  who  behaved  worse  than  either,  upon  whom 
the  world  has  visited  no  censure.  That  disciple  was  the 
man  whom  Jesus  loved,  who  claimed  friendship  with  the 
priests  that  he  might  see  his  Lord  condemned,  and  stood  in 
shameful  silence ;  who  heard  false  witness  uttered,  and  was 
tongue-tied  by  his  cowardice ;  who  saw  cruel  blows  struck, 
and  attempted  no  interference,  and  made  no  protest ;  who 
did  and  endured  these 'things,  and  knew  not  himself  a  cow- 
ard, nor  wept  remorseful  tears  with  Judas,  nor  tears  of 
sacred  penitence  with  Peter. 

It  was  now  about  seven  o'clock  in  the  morning.  A  pro- 
cession was  formed  of  the  priests  and  their  followers,  in  the 
midst  of  which  Jesus  walked  bound.  The  procession  moved 
rapidly  to  the  house  of  the  Roman  governor.  Even  now  the 
priests  were  by  no  means  sure  of  success.  The  conduct  of 
the  disciples  had  allayed  their  dread  of  a  popular  rising ; 
for  if  the  closest  friends  of  Jesus  forsook  Him  in  His  hour 
of  need,  what  chance  was  there  that  the  multitude  would 
rally  to  Him  ?  But  they  were  deeply  conscious  of  the  ille- 
gality of  their  proceedings,  and  in  doubt  as  to  what  view 
Pilate  might  take  of  them.  They  had  conducted  a  private 
inquisition,  in  which  all  the  forms  of  justice  had  been  out- 
raged ;  but  they  knew  that  Pilate  would  insist  upjon  a  public 


THE  TRIAL  OF  JESUS  399 

examination,  at  which  definite  evidence  would  be  demanded. 
They  also  knew  that  the  charge  of  blasphemy  would  have  no 
weight  with  Pilate.  He  would  treat  the  whole  affair  as  a 
squabble  of  fanatics  whom  he  despised,  and  the  violent  pro- 
ceedings of  which  they  had  been  guilty  would  excite  his 
scorn  and  offend  his  sense  of  justice.  Their  uneasiness  is 
revealed  in  the  first  words  which  they  exchange  with  the 
Roman  governor.  When  Pilate  appears  in  the  Pretorium 
he  naturally  asks  what  accusation  they  have  to  make  against 
the  prisoner.  They  reply  with  the  transparent  evasion  that 
if  Jesus  had  not  been  a  malefactor  they  would  not  have  de- 
livered Him  up  to  the  Roman  jurisdiction.  The  instant  re- 
tort of  Pilate  is  that  if  they  have  already  found  Jesus  to  be 
a  malefactor  there  is  no  need  for  his  jurisdiction.  Let  them 
take  Him  away  and  judge  Him  according  to  their  law.  This 
is  precisely  the  course  of  action  which  they  had  foreseen  as 
possible  with  Pilate,  and  it  means  the  defeat  of  all  their  plot. 
They  might  convict  Jesus  upon  the  clearest  evidence  of  blas- 
phemy, but  the  law  which  permitted  them  to  put  a  blas- 
phemer to  death  had  long  ago  been  in  abeyance.  And  it 
was  the  death  of  Jesus,  and  nothing  less,  that  they  desired. 
With  a  truly  diabolic  craft  they  therefore  invented  on  the 
spot  a  new  charge,  of  which  no  one  had  heard  until  that  mo- 
ment. They  accused  Jesus  of  perverting  the  nation  and  of 
forbidding  the  people  to  pay  tribute  to  Caesar.  The  charge 
was  absolutely  false,  as  they  well  knew.  Within  the  hearing 
of  some  of  them,  and  but  a  few  days  before,  Jesus  had  pub- 
licly sustained  the  right  of  Ca3sar  to  demand  tribute.  It  was 
moreover  a  peculiarly  perilous  charge  to  make,  because  if  it 
had  been  true  it  would  at  once  have  rallied  all  the  national 
party  to  Christ's  side.  But  it  served  the  purpose  of  the  mo- 
ment, which  was  all  that  they  expected  it  to  do.  Pilate 
could  not  show  himself  indifferent  to  a  charge  of  treason  ;  he 


400  THE    LIFE    OF   CHRIST 

dared  not  summarily  dismiss  a  prisoner  against  whom  such 
a  charge  was  made.  He  at  once  entered  into  the  Judgment 
Hall,  and  ordered  Jesus  to  be  sent  to  him,  that  he  might 
publicly  examine  Him. 

The  character  of  Pilate  deserves  close  consideration  and 
attention.  We  are  at  once  conscious  of  a  total  change  of  at- 
mosphere when  we  pass  from  the  house  of  Caiaphas  to  the 
Pretorium  of  Pilate.  Instead  of  raving  priests  smiting  Jesus 
from  the  very  judgment-seat  with  brutal  blows,  we  have  a 
calm  and  astute  man  of  the  world,  the  servant  of  a  nation 
whose  supreme  watchword  was  Order.  By  contrast  with 
Caiaphas  and  Hanan,  Pilate  is  almost  a  splendid  figure.  He 
is,  at  least,  impressive  by  virtue  of  a  certain  masculine  dig- 
nity and  restraint.  Any  one  familiar  with  the  faces  of  the 
Roman  emperors  may  easily  picture  Pilate,  for  thevtype  of 
face  was  common.  We  recognize  at  once  in  the  square  jaw, 
the  firm  mouth,  the  harsh  brows,  the  soldier  accustomed  to 
the  exercise  of  authority,  and  utterly  relentless  in  the  use  of 
it.  As  Pilate  understood  the  business  of  life,  the  chief  duty 
of  man  was  to  render  unquestioning  obedience  to  might 
rather  than  to  right.  For  him  questions  of  abstract  right 
and  wrong  were  not  worth  the  breath  spent  upon  them.  The 
world  was  a  place  of  practical  aims  and  energies,  in  which 
the  strong  man  alone  succeeded.  Not  in  any  bad  or  corrupt 
sense,  but  nevertheless  in  a  very  real  and  true  sense,  Pilate 
was  of  the  earth,  earthy,  and  represented  the  spirit  of  a 
practical  and  brilliant  worldliness. 

Such  a  man  would  naturally  feel  a  strong  aversion  to 
all  questions  of  religion ;  and  yet  this  is  remarkable  when 
we  recollect  that  at  this  time  among  the  most  intelligent  of 
his  countrymen  there  was  a  profound  curiosity  about  these 
very  questions.  At  this  same  hour  there  was  alive  in  Eome 
one  of  the  greatest  of  philosophers,  Seneca,  who  could  say 


THE  TRIAL  OF  JESUS  401 

of  himself  that  "  his  mind  revelled  in  the  spectacle  of  that 
which  is  divine,  and,  mindful  of  its  own  eternity,  passed  into 
all  that  hath  been,  and  all  that  shall  be,  throughout  all  ages." 
Behind  all  the  hard  practicality  of  the  Roman  mind  there 
had  always  throbbed  a  soul  in  search  of  God,  and  later  on 
an  Epictetus  could  counsel  his  countrymen  "  to  wish  to  win 
the  suffrages  of  your  own  inward  approval,  to  wish  to  appear 
beautiful  before  God ; "  and  a  Marcus  Aurelius  could  write 
of  the  divinity  in  man  and  define  the  true  end  of  life  as  "  a 
pious  disposition  and  social  acts."  We  can  imagine  with 
what  interest  and  sympathy  Seneca  would  have  conversed 
with  Christ ;  but  Pilate  was  no  Seneca,  and  cared  as  little 
for  the  speculations  of  the  Roman  thinker  as  he  did  for  the 
vexed  theologies  of  the  Jewish  priests.  With  all  that  was 
finest  and  noblest  in  the  Gentile  mind,  its  search  for  God 
and  its  efforts  to  unlock  the  secrets  of  eternity,  he  had  no 
sympathy ;  and  still  less  would  he  be  able  to  discover  any 
point  of  intellectual  contact  with  the  mind  of  Christ.  Placed 
as  governor  over  a  strange  and  fascinating  people,  whose  re- 
ligion was  the  loftiest  in  the  world,  and  had  its  root  in  a 
remote  antiquity,  there  is  nothing  to  show  that  he  had  even 
taken  the  slightest  pains  to  understand  it.  It  is  clear  that 
he  had  never  heard  the  name  of  Jesus  till  the  day  when  He 
stood  before  him  as  a  prisoner.  If  the  legend  be  true  that 
Procla,  his  wife,  was  a  student  of  the  Jewish  Scriptures,  he 
would  regard  her  strange  taste  as  a  piece  of  harmless  ped- 
antry. As  for  him,  he  read  no  books  :  they  were  the  amuse- 
ment of  the  idle.  He  prided  himself  upon  being  a  practical 
man  of  affairs,  who  had  more  important  matters  to  engross 
his  mind.  He  regarded  the  Temple  and  all  its  sacred  rites 
much  as  a  contemptuous  English  resident  might  regard  the 
temple  of  a  gorgeous  superstition  beside  the  Ganges.  In  a 
word,  he  had  no  interest  in  religion,  no  desire  for  truth,  no 
26 


402  THE    LIFE    OF   CHRIST 

curiosity  about  religious  phenomena.  He  was  Pilate,  hard 
pressed  by  the  government  of  a  refractory  province,  anxious 
to  raise  his  taxes  without  tumult,  sedulous  of  keeping  his 
peace  with  the  Emperor,  and  careful  for  nothing  but  his  own 
power,  his  own  interest,  his  own  advancement  in  life.  And 
it  was  this  man,  realist  and  materialist  in  all  his  thoughts 
and  conduct,  who  was  now  to  judge  One  in  whose  Divine 
idealism  the  world  of  all  the  future  spoke. 

Some  sympathy  is  due  to  a  man  placed  in  a  situation  so 
difficult,  and  it  must  be  conceded  that  Pilate  makes  an  honest 
effort  to  understand  his  prisoner,  and  to  act  justly  toward 
Him.  He  goes  at  once  to  the  root  of  the  matter,  and  asks 
Jesus  if  He  really  claims  to  be  the  King  of  the  Jews ;  for  it 
would  seem  that  in  the  hasty  charge  of  treason  invented  by 
the  priests  it  had  been  alleged  that  He  had  received  homage 
as  a  King.  Here,  and  here  alone,  a  fragment  of  real  evidence 
was  introduced,  for  it  was  incontestable  that  Christ  had  en- 
tered Jerusalem  but  a  week  before  amid  general  acclamation 
as  a  King ;  and  Pilate  at  once  fixes  upon  this  fact  as  incrim- 
inating. Jesus  replies  with  another  question  :  "  Sayest  thou 
this  of  thyself,  or  did  others  tell  it  thee  of  Me  ?  "  Pilate  re- 
torts with  contempt  that  ho  is  not  a  Jew.  He  desires  a  plain 
answer  to  a  plain  question  :  "  What  hast  Thou  done  ?  "  The 
very  form  of  the  question  indicates  his  hesitation  to  receive 
as  evidence  the  angry  accusations  of  the  priests.  But  the 
reply  of  Jesus  only  increases  his  perplexity.  Jesus  avows 
Himself  a  King,  but  not  of  this  world.  To  this  end  was  He 
born,  and  for  this  cause  had  He  come  into  the  Avorld,  that 
He  might  bear  witness  to  the  truth.  "  What  is  truth  ?  "  asks 
Pilate ;  not  in  jest,  as  Bacon  would  persuade  us,  but  in  real 
porplexity.  The  words  of  Jesus  seem  to  him  ingenious 
trifling,  and  yet  he  feels  that  they  cover  something  that  lies 
beyond  the  penetration  of  his  worldly  sagacity.     The  con- 


THE  TRIAL  OF  JESUS  403 

viction  rapidly  forms  itself  in  his  mind  that  this  is  no  dan- 
gerous revolutionist,  but  a  poor,  distraught  enthusiast.  How 
can  he  order  the  crucifixion  for  sedition  of  One  whose  mind 
is  absolutely  destitute  of  political  ideas  ?  What  has  Rome 
to  fear  from  this  amiable  dreamer,  with  His  delusion  of  im- 
aginary kingdoms  ?  Pilate  begins  to  be  angry.  He  is  sus- 
picious that  the  priests  desire  to  make  a  jest  of  his  judgment, 
and  to  cover  him  with  ridicule.  He  goes  out  to  the  Sanhc- 
drists  and  says  brusquely,  "I  find  no  fault  at  all  in  Him." 
The  words  can  have  but  one  meaning :  they  are  a  complete 
acquittal. 

But  Pilate  had  not  reckoned  with  the  rapid  groAvth  of  the 
agitation  among  the  people.  A  multitude  now  fills  the  open 
courtyard,  and  Pilate  has  good  reason  to  know  how  rapidly 
a  storm  may  rise  among  a  people  so  fanatical.  For  the  first 
time  he  recognizes  with  dismay  the  peril  of  the  situation, 
and  it  is  at  this  point  that  his  temper  changes.  No  man 
knew  his  duty  better :  having  publicly  acquitted  Christ,  he 
should  have  released  Him  instantly.  But  the  weakness  of 
Pilate's  character,  as  it  was  the  weakness  of  the  later  Roman 
policy  itself,  was  a  love  of  expediency.  In  the  decay  of  Em- 
pire diplomacy  usually  takes  the  place  of  that  straightforward 
honesty,  staking  all  upon  the  die,  by  which  Empire  is  at  first 
established.  The  soldier  in  Pilate  is  now  hindered  by  the 
diplomat.  A  hundred  men-at-arms  might  easily  have  swept 
the  rabble  from  the  Pretorium ;  but  Pilate  knows  well  that 
such  a  display  of  force  would  be  duly  reported  to  the  Em- 
peror as  an  outrage  and  a  massacre,  with  every  kind  of  ex- 
aggeration which  malice  could  invent  or  falsehood  support. 
From  that  moment  the  interests  of  Christ,  which  are  the 
interests  of  justice,  become  of  less  importance  to  him  than 
his  own  interests.  He  looks  upon  the  howling  mob  with  an 
indecision  in  his  eye  which  they  are  quick  to  mark.     They 


404  THE    LIFE    OF   CHRIST 

become  "the  more  fierce,"  shouting  insult  and  accusation, 
and  in  the  tumult  of  words  Pilate  at  last  distinguishes  one 
word  which  appears  to  offer  him  political  salvation.  "  He 
has  stirred  up  all  the  people,  beginning  from  Galilee  to  this 
place,"  cry  the  priests.  The  complete  ignorance  of  Pilate  of 
all  Christ's  previous  history  is  manifested  in  the  question 
which  he  now  asks,  "  Is  Jesus,  then,  a  Galilean  ?  "  When 
the  priests  affirm,  with  that  scorn  which  never  failed  them 
when  they  mentioned  Galilee,  that  Jesus  is  in  truth  a  Gali- 
lean, Pilate  sees  his  way.  If  He  be  a  Galilean,  he  is  in 
Herod's  jurisdiction,  and  to  Herod  let  Him  go.  Herod  is  in 
Jerusalem,  and  the  Idumean  will  better  understand  than  he 
the  complications  of  a  charge  which  appears  in  the  main  ec- 
clesiastical rather  than  civil  or  political.  So  once  more 
Jesus  is  delivered  up  to  the  priests,  and  now,  guarded  prob- 
ably by  Roman  soldiers  from  the  violence  of  His  own  coun- 
trymen, He  is  taken  to  the  palace  of  Herod. 

One  would  fain  draw  the  veil  over  the  scene  which  ensued, 
for  human  nature  itself  suffers  degradation  in  it.  If  we  may 
feel  sympathy  with  Pilate  we  can  feel  none  with  Herod. 
Herod  receives  Jesus  with  offensive  suavity.  He  has  long 
desired  to  see  Him,  and  his  attitude  is  one  of  base  and  cruel 
curiosity.  Jesus  has  no  significance  for  him  except  as  a  re- 
puted thaumaturgus.  He  overwhelms  Him  with  fluent  chat- 
ter; asks  Him  many  questions;  and  even  expects  Him  to 
work  some  act  of  necromancy  for  the  amusement  of  his  court. 
He  supposes  that  Pilate  has  sent  him  a  superior  sort  of  jug- 
gler, and  he  is  so  grateful  for  the  friendly  intentions  of  the 
Roman  governor  that  that  day  a  long  standing  quarrel  be- 
tween them  is  healed.  But  Jesus  marked  His  understand- 
ing of  the  man  by  a  complete  majestic  silence.  He,  like 
another  martyr,  who  knew  his  trial  a  mockery,  "  lifted  up  his 
face,  without  any  speaking."     It  was  a  dreadful  silence ;   it 


THE  TRIAL  OF  JESUS  405 

grew  and  spread  like  a  cold  sea.  It  is  all  the  more  signifi- 
cant when  we  compare  the  scene  which  had  occurred  in  the 
High  Priest's  house,  and  at  the  tribunal  of  Pilate.  Jesus 
was  not  silent  in  the  presence  of  the  priests :  to  them  He 
spoke  boldly  of  His  life,  His  claims,  His  hopes.  He  was 
not  silent  before  Pilate;  He  felt  so  much  of  pity,  perhaps 
even  of  respect,  for  the  troubled  Governor,  who  was  at  least 
anxious  to  act  justly,  and  save  Him  from  His  foes,  that  He 
explained  to  him  more  fully  than  to  any  other  what  He 
meant  by  His  kingship  and  His  Kingdom.  But  to  this  man, 
sentimentalist  in  religion,  sensualist  in  life,  utterly  base  and 
rotten  to  the  core,  Jesus  answers  not  a  word.  He  knew  that 
He  stood  in  the  presence  of  the  murderer  of  John,  and  He 
knew  that  with  such  a  man  all  sincere  appreciation  of  religion 
was  impossible.  He  knew  that  it  was  farcical  to  expect  jus- 
tice from  him.  And  so  Christ  is  silent — an  indignant  silence, 
a  terrible  and  freezing  silence ;  dumbness  surcharged  with 
anger,  rebuke,  reproach  beyond  all  capacity  of  words,  more 
thrilling  than  the  cry  of  trumpets,  more  awe-inspiring  than 
the  crash  of  ruined  nrnianients.  And  at  last,  even  Herod 
becomes  conscious  of  what  that  impenetrable  silence  means. 
A  scorn,  as  cruel  as  his  previous  curiosity,  takes  possession 
of  his  thoughts.  Lips  are  thrust  out,  and  bright  eyes  gleam 
with  malice  as  they  catch  the  eye  of  Herod.  He  will  not 
even  take  the  trouble  to  condemn  One  so  forlorn  and  impo- 
tent. And  yet  in  his  scorn  there  is  a  kind  of  terror  which 
soon  finds  expression  in  acts  of  an  unpardonable  brutality. 
He  knows  too  well  that  those  calm  and  dreadful  eyes  read 
the  secret  of  his  levity,  his  insincerity,  his  concealed  abhor- 
rence of  all  things  virtuous  and  pure.  The  moment  he  finds 
how  impossible  it  is  to  befool  Jesus,  how  yet  more  impossi- 
ble to  break  down  His  dignity,  the  real  Herod  stands  re- 
vealed ;  "  then  Herod  and  his  men  of  war  set  Him  at  nought 


406  THE    LIFE    OF   CHRIST 

and  mocked  Him,  and  arrayed  Him  in  a  gorgeous  robe,  and 
sent  Him  again  to  Pilate." 

Once  more  Jesus  stands  before  Pilate.  The  stratagem  of 
sending  Him  to  Herod,  from  which  Pilate  hoped  so  much, 
has  failed.  Pilate,  in  seeking  to  evade  responsibility,  has 
made  his  position  a  thousand-fold  more  difficult.  Even  now 
he  might  have  saved  the  situation  by  prompt  military  action ; 
but  he  is  less  disposed  than  ever  to  attempt  decisive  meas- 
ures. He  begins  to  realize  that  he  has  made  the  mob  his 
master ;  yet  he  still  imagines  that  he  can  circumvent  its  mal- 
ice by  a  superior  astuteness.  He  confronts  the  mob  with  a 
firmness  he  is  far  from  feeling,  and  again  repeats  the  reasons 
why  he  has  acquitted  Christ.  "  Ye  have  brought  unto  me," 
he  says,  "  this  Man,  as  One  that  perverted  the  people ;  and 
behold  I,  having  examined  Him  before  you,  have  found  no 
fault  in  this  Man,  touching  these  things  whereof  ye  accuse 
Him :  no,  nor  yet  Herod ;  for  I  sent  you  to  him,  and  lo, 
nothing  worthy  of  death  is  done  unto  Him.  I  will  therefore 
chastise  Him  and  release  Him."  The  words  produce  an  ef- 
fect exactly  opposite  to  that  which  Pilate  had  intended.  The 
priests  at  once  interpret  them  as  a  confession  of  surrender, 
and  not  without  reason,  for  if  Pilate  really  thought  his  pris- 
oner innocent,  it  was  both  absurd  and  unjust  to  chastise  Him. 
This  proposed  chastisement  is  plainly  a  concession  to  the 
mob,  and  he  who  can  concede  so  much  can  be  forced  to  con- 
cede more.  Thrice  Pilate  repeats  his  offer,  only  to  find  him- 
self treated  on  each  occasion  with  increasing  derision.  He 
commits  the  fatal  error  of  arguing  with  the  mob,  asking 
them,  as  if  they  were  the  judges,  "  Why,  what  evil  hath  He 
done  ?  "  Even  the  Roman  guard,  which  lined  the  courtyard, 
must  have  pitied  Pilate  in  that  moment,  and  have  asked, 
with  wondering  scorn,  why  the  master  of  many  legions 
should  hesitate  to  use  the  sword  in  defence  equally  of  justice 


THE  TRIAL  OF  JESUS  407 

and  his  own  dignity.  In  his  extreme  perplexity  one  more 
expedient  suggests  itself  to  Pilate.  It  is  customary  at  the 
Passover  to  release  some  notorious  prisoner,  and  Jesus  may 
be  released  on  this  ground.  He  makes  this  proposition  to 
the  mob,  as  a  happy  solution  of  all  the  difficulty.  But  again 
he  has  miscalculated.  It  would  seem  that  a  certain  political 
offender,  perhaps  a  leader  of  popular  revolt,  with  the  singu- 
lar name  of  Jesus  Bar-abbas,  then  lay  under  sentence  of 
death  in  the  Ptoman  prison.  Perhaps  the  proposition  to  re- 
lease Jesus  as  a  Passover  prisoner  suggested  the  release  of 
this  other  Jesus,  for  until  that  moment  his  name  had  not 
been  uttered,  nor  had  the  custom  of  releasing  a  Passover 
prisoner  been  alluded  to.  However  this  may  be,  it  is  clear 
that  some  one  suggested  the  release  of  Jesus  Bar-abbas,  and 
in  a  moment  the  idea  is  taken  up  by  the  whole  multitude. 
Jesus  Bar-abbas  instantly  achieved  a  popularity,  at  which  no 
one  would  have  been  so  much  surprised  as  himself.  With 
one  voice  the  multitude  cries,  "  Release  unto  us  not  this  Man, 
but  Bar-abbas  " ;  not  the  Jesus  of  Galilee,  whose  kingdom  is 
not  of  this  world,  but  this  other  Jesus,  who  better  compre- 
hends the  means  by  which  kingdoms  are  created. 

In  all  this  singular  controversy  the  priests  have  had  the 
upper  hand,  and  at  every  turn  Pilate  has  found  himself  out- 
argued,  out-manoeuvred,  and  humiliated.  He  now  retires 
again  into  the  inner  Hall  of  Judgment,  and  it  is  there  that 
he  receives  a  warning  of  the  dreadful  crime,  now  imminent, 
which  his  weakness  will  achieve,  as  though  heaven  itself  had 
vouchsafed  direction  to  him  in  his  perplexities.  He  is  no 
sooner  set  down  upon  the  judgment-seat  than  his  wife  con- 
veys to  him  a  message,  which  sends  a  shiver  of  superstition 
through  his  laboring  mind.  "  Have  nothing  to  do  with  this 
just  Man,"  she  says,  "for  I  have  suffered  many  things  this 
day  in  a  dream  because  of  Him."     Perhaps  she,  in  the  early 


408  THE    LIFE    OF   CHRIST 

dawn  when  Christ  was  first  brought  bound  into  the  Judg- 
ment Hall,  had  found  means  to  look  upon  His  face ;  perhaps 
she,  a  reputed  student  of  the  Hebrew  Scriptures,  knew  some- 
thing of  His  career  and  claims ;  and  in  that  interval,  when 
Jesus  had  been  sent  to  Herod,  she  had  slept,  and  had  dreamed 
dreams  which  were  full  of  horror,  from  which  she  awoke  with 
a  strong  presentiment  of  peril  for  her  husband  in  his  contact 
with  One  so  holy  and  so  awful.  Pilate  would  receive  her 
message  with  a  troubled  brow.  A  faith  in  dreams  and  omens 
was  almost  a  part  of  a  Roman's  education,  and  the  greatest 
soldiers  had  not  been  free  from  the  superstitious  awe  which 
they  inspired.  Yet  what  could  he  do  ?  And,  as  he  thinks, 
some  faint  memory  of  a  striking  Jewish  custom,  of  which 
perhaps  his  wife  had  once  informed  him,  recurs  to  his  weary 
mind.  According  to  the  Mosaic  law,  when  a  man  was  found 
slain  the  people  of  the  nearest  city  were  called  upon  to  dis- 
avow the  murder ;  and  this  they  did  by  slaying  an  heifer, 
and  washing  their  hands  over  it,  and  saying,  "Our  hands 
have  not  shed  this  blood,  neither  have  our  eyes  seen  it.  Be 
merciful,  O  Lord,  and  lay  not  innocent  blood  unto  Thy  peo- 
ple of  Israel's  charge."  Once  more  Pilate  thinks  he  sees  a 
way  through  the  intricacies  of  the  problems  which  beset  him. 
He  also  will  wash  his  hands  before  the  people,  and  thus 
avow  himself  innocent  of  the  blood  which  they  are  resolved 
to  shed.  He  will  thus  obey  the  warning  of  his  wife's  dream, 
for  he  will  have  nothing  to  do  with  this  just  Man.  He  will 
thrust  the  whole  responsibility  of  the  judicial  murder,  which 
he  now  regards  as  inevitable,  upon  the  priests  and  the  mob. 
But  he  finds  it  hard  to  believe  that  his  diplomacy  has  failed 
He  will  make  yet  one  more  attempt  to  save  a  prisoner  whom 
he  greatly  prefers  to  release,  if  release  be  possible.  He  ap- 
pears once  more  before  the  multitude,  and  renews  his  offer 
to  release  Jesus  as  a  Passover  prisoner.     But  in  the  brief  in- 


THE  TRIAL  OF  JESUS  409 

terval,  while  he  has  been  absent,  the  priests  have  strained 
every  nerve  to  influence  the  people  in  favor  of  Jesus  Bar- 
abbas.  With  a  tumultuous  and  appalling  unanimity  they 
now  demand  the  prisoner  for  sedition,  and  when  Pilate, 
weakly  arguing  with  them,  asks,  "  What  shall  I  do  then  with 
Jesus,  which  is  called  Christ  ?  "  they  reply  with  one  accord, 
"  Let  Him  be  crucified."  And  then  Pilate  solemnly  performs 
the  most  dramatic  act  of  this  tragic  and  momentous  morning. 
"When  Pilate  saw  that  he  could  prevail  nothing,  but  rather 
a  tumult  was  made,  he  took  water,  and  washed  his  hands  be- 
fore the  multitude,  saying,  'I  am  innocent  of  the  blood  of 
this  just  person ;  see  ye  to  it.'  Then  answered  all  the  peo- 
ple and  said,  '  His  blood  be  on  us,  and  on  our  children.' " 

All  the  wisdom  of  Pilate  seemed  that  day  to  be  turned  to 
folly,  and  so  it  was  to  the  end.  He  had  washed  his  hands 
before  the  people,  and  yet  his  own  conscience  was  not  at 
ease,  nor  was  the  crowd  satisfied.  He  had  calculated  that 
the  people  would  be  impressed  by  the  spectacle  of  a  Roman 
judge  making  use  of  a  solemn  Jewish  rite,  to  declare  his  dis- 
avowal of  a  crime  which  they  seemed  resolved  to  commit ; 
but  they  treat  it  as  little  better  than  a  vain  theatrical  display. 
In  his  despair  he  recurs  to  his  former  policy.  He  has  been 
weak  too  long ;  at  last  he  will  be  strong.  He  will  scourge 
Jesus  and  let  Him  go.  Whether  the  crowd  likes  it  or  not 
this  shall  be  the  sole  punishment  of  Jesus,  for  crucify  Him 
he  will  not.  The  soldiers,  weary  of  a  scene  which  has  been 
throughout  an  insult  to  their  arms,  aching  to  strike  some 
blow,  they  care  not  on  whom  or  for  what  cause,  rush  eagerly 
upon  the  task  of  scourging  Jesus.  They  are  in  no  mind  to 
make  distinctions  ;  Jesus  is  a  Jew,  and  they  hate  all  things 
Jewish.  And  so,  let  us  hope  not  with  the  connivance  of 
Pilate,  they  not  only  scourge  Him,  but  mock  Him.  They 
plait  a  crown  of  thorns  and  put  it  on  His  head  in  derision 


410  THE    LIFE    OF   CHRIST 

of  His  kingship ;  they  put  a  reed  into  His  hand  for  sceptre, 
and  they  cover  the  wounds  which  they  have  made  with  a 
purple  toga.  It  was  so  that  Jesus  was  presented  to  the  peo- 
ple when  the  scourging  was  accomplished.  Surely  this  was 
enough,  thought  Pilate ;  even  the  most  vindictive  crowd  can 
demand  no  more.  So  sure  is  Pilate  of  his  position  that  he 
now  can  dare  to  mock  the  priests,  before  whom  he  has 
quailed  for  so  long.  He  tells  them  to  take  Christ  away  and 
crucify  Him,  well  knowing  that  they  have  no  legal  power  to 
do  so.  The  priests  retort  with  a  new  charge  against  Christ, 
the  third  they  had  made  that  day,  and  the  last.  They  de- 
clare that  He  had  made  Himself  the  Son  of  God,  and  Pilate, 
remembering  his  wife's  dream,  is  now  shaken  with  a  great 
terror.  He  makes  yet  one  more  attempt  to  interrogate  his 
prisoner,  but  now  Christ  answers  nothing.  "  Speaketk  Thou 
not  unto  me  ?  Knowest  Thou  not  that  I  have  power  to  cru- 
cify Thee,  and  I  have  power  to  release  Thee  ?  "  asks  Pilate 
in  insulted  dignity.  Never  was  vainer  boast,  for  events  had 
shown  that  Pilate's  prerogative  of  life  or  death  could  not  be 
enforced  against  the  will  of  a  hostile  mob.  With  gentle 
irony,  with  sublime  pity  and  magnanimity,  Christ  conveys 
this  truth  to  Pilate  by  replying,  "Thou  couldest  have  no 
power  at  all  against  Me  except  it  were  given  thee  from  above  : 
therefore,  he  that  delivered  Me  unto  thee  hath  the  greater 
sin."  Pilate  himself  thrills  with  the  magnanimity  of  that 
reply.  The  Man  crowned  with  thorns,  whom  he  has  permitted 
not  only  to  be  scourged,  but  to  be  basely  mocked,  can  pity  him, 
can  even  seek  to  find  extenuation  for  his  crime.  More  than  ever 
Pilate  desires  His  release,  for  he  has  not  alone  a  wrong  to 
his  own  conscience  which  cries  for  reparation,  but  a  wrong 
done  to  Christ.  But  it  is  now  too  late.  The  ominous  cry 
begins  to  rise,  "  If  thou  let  this  Man  go  thou  art  not  Caesar's 
friend.     "Whosoever  maketh  himself  a  king  speaketh  against 


THE  TRIAL  OF  JESUS  411 

Caesar."  And  before  that  threat  Pilate's  courage  finally  col- 
lapses. He  dare  not  risk  accusation  to  Caesar  for  the  sake 
of  Christ.  He  is  once  more  the  man  of  the  world,  with 
whom  self-interest  is  supreme.  Jesus  must  die  that  Pilate's 
reputation  may  be  saved.  He  hastily,  and  with  words  of 
mockery  which  cover  his  own  shame,  gives  the  brief  order 
that  Jesus  shall  be  crucified.  Jesus  submits  in  perfect  si- 
lence ;  had  He  spoken,  surely  His  last  word  to  Pilate  would 
have  been,  "  What  shall  it  profit  a  man,  if  he  gain  the  whole 
world  and  lose  his  own  soul  ?  " 

Thus  ended  the  trial  of  Jesus  Christ.  It  was  from  first  to 
last  a  travesty  of  justice.  Not  one  of  the  charges  urged 
against  Him  was  proved.  He  had  been  thrice  declared  ab- 
solutely innocent  by  the  man  who  finally  condemns  Him.  In 
the  course  of  the  trial  we  see  Him  brought  into  close  con- 
tact with  the  entire  priestly  hierarchy,  with  a  King,  and  with 
a  military  Governor  who  represents  all  the  might  of  Koine. 
He  is  superior  to  all.  They  each  in  turn  serve  as  foils  to 
throw  into  relief  His  dignity  and  purity.  His  fortitude  and 
courage,  His  self-restraint  and  magnanimity,  are  conspicuous 
throughout.  No  one  can  mistake  the  fact  that  He  goes  to 
His  death  in  perfect  innocence.  As  little  can  we  fail  to  see 
that  He  goes  triumphantly ;  the  victim  indeed,  but  to  the 
last  the  Victor- Victim, 


CHAPTER  XXIX     . 

THE   DEATH   OF   JESUS 

The  priests  and  the  Jewish  mob  had  themselves  demanded 
the  crucifixion  of  Jesus.  Had  they  been  capable  of  the  least 
reflection  they  would  have  understood  the  insult  which  they 
affixed  upon  the  whole  Jewish  nation  by  the  demand ;  for 
crucifixion  was  a  form  of  death  reserved  only  for  the  most 
servile.  It  was  not  strictly  a  Roman  form  of  punishment  at 
all,  and  in  her  purer  and  prouder  days  Rome  would  have 
disdained  to  employ  a  means  of  death  so  gratuitously  brutal. 
Rome  had  borrowed  it  from  the  East,  probably  from  the 
Phoenicians,  the  most  corrupt  and  cruel  of  all  the  races  who 
have  raised  themselves  to  empire.  She  reserved  it  for  the 
East,  as  if  to  affirm  her  undying  contempt  for  peoples  whom 
she  regarded  as  unworthy  of  any  reverence.  The  Cross  was 
thus  the  symbol  of  national  shame  and  degradation.  No 
Roman,  however  vile,  was  crucified.  It  was  a  death  so  cruel 
in  itself,  so  dishonoring  and  shameful,  that  Rome  reserved  it 
for  those  whom  she  regarded  as  the  vermin  of  the  human 
race,  who  were  too  obnoxious  to  claim  the  privilege  of  part- 
nership in  her  social  order.  But  on  this  disastrous  day  it 
seemed  as  if  the  whole  Jewish  race  were  bent  on  national 
suicide.  In  order  to  compass  the  death  of  Jesus  the  priests 
had  openly  avowed  that  they  had  no  king  but  Caesar.  Pa- 
triotism itself  had  perished  in  the  paroxysm  of  rage  against 
a  person.  The  ideas  for  which  the  nation  had  fought  and 
struggled  with  a  splendid  obstinacy  through  so  many  years 
of  subjugation,  were  in  a  moment  thrown  away.     And  it  is 

412 


THE  DEATH  OF  JESUS  413 

the  same  kind  of  madness  which  we  discern  in  the  demand 
for  the  crucifixion  of  Jesus.  It  matters  nothing  to  the  peo- 
ple that  the  Cross  is  the  symbol  of  national  degradation,  and 
that  for  a  Jew,  however  guilty,  to  die  by  such  a  death,  is  an 
insult  to  the  whole  nation ;  it  is  the  death  which  they  them- 
selves demanded  for  their  noblest  Son.  That  they  may  the 
more  effectually  dishonor  Jesus  they  are  willing  to  dishonor 
the  entire  race  ;  nor  can  they  see,  in  this  madness  of  revenge 
that  it  is  not  Jesus  only,  but  the  nation  itself,  that  is  put  to 
an  open  shame. 

It  was  about  nine  o'clock  in  the  morning  when  the  final 
order  was  given  for  the  execution  of  Jesus.  The  place  of 
execution  is  minutely  described  to  us  as  Golgotha,  or  the 
place  of  a  skull,  a  small  hill  near  the  city,  and  immediately 
beyond  its  gates.  There  is  but  one  place  discoverable  in 
modern  Jerusalem  which  entirely  fulfils  the  descriptions  of 
the  Evangelists.  It  is  a  green  hill,  with  a  precipitous  lime- 
stone cliff,  which  bears  an  unmistakable  likeness  to  a  human 
skull.  It  is  at  a  point  where  great  roads  converge,  open  and 
public,  so  that  it  would  be  possible  for  a  great  concourse  of 
people  to  assemble,  each  of  whom  would  be  able  to  see  all 
that  occurred  upon  the  hill  itself,  and  to  read  the  inscription 
which  Pilate  wrote  above  the  Cross.  The  hill  rises  immedi- 
ately outside  the  Damascus  Gate,  which  in  earlier  times  was 
called  the  Gate  of  Stephen,  because  tradition  asserts  that  the 
first  martyr  suffered  death  in  its  immediate  vicinity.  To  this 
day  the  hill  is  known  among  the  Jews  as  the  Hill  of  Execu- 
tion, and  it  is  said  that  he  who  passes  it  breathes  to  himself 
the  strange  words,  "  Cursed  be  He  who  destroyed  our  nation 
by  aspiring  to  be  its  king."  At  the  foot  of  the  hill  is  a  gar- 
den, in  which  a  rock  sepulchre  has  lately  been  discovered, 
certainly  dating  from  the  days  of  Herod,  and  almost  certainly 
the  tomb  in  which  the  body  of  Jesus  lay. 


414  THE   LIFE    OF   CHRIST 

It  was  to  this  liill  that  the  sad  procession  now  passed. 
First  of  all  marched  the  centurion  charged  with  the  execu- 
tion of  the  sentence,  who  bore  aloft  the  tablet  on  which  the 
offence  of  Jesus  was  described,  "  This  is  Jesus,  the  King  of 
the  Jews."  Next  followed  the  soldiers,  carrying  the  instru- 
ments of  execution,  and  behind  them  came  Jesus  Himself 
bearing  the  Cross.  Two  other  prisoners  doomed  to  the  same 
death  accompanied  Him  :  a  refinement  of  derision  on  the 
part  of  Pilate,  addressed  to  the  Jews  rather  than  to  Jesus, 
whom  he  wished  to  insult  not  only  by  the  inscription  on  the 
tablet,  but  by  making  their  King  the  companion  of  thieves  in 
His  death.  The  whole  multitude  followed  behind,  conspicu- 
ous among  whom  were  some  of  the  friends  of  Jesus,  and 
many  women  who  wept  aloud,  and  smote  their  breasts,  after 
the  custom  of  mourners  at  a  Jewish  funeral.  Immediately 
outside  the  Damascus  Gate,  the  procession  halted,  for  Jesus 
was  now  at  the  ascent  of  the  hill,  and  could  no  longer  bear 
the  Cross.  A  man  coming  in  from  the  country,  known  as 
Simon  of  Cyrene,  was  hastily  impressed  for  this  duty  by  the 
Roman  soldiers,  who  had  too  great  a  scorn  of  the  Cross  to 
offer  the  Sufferer  the  least  help  in  sustaining  it.  The  plateau 
of  the  hill  was  soon  reached.  The  Sufferer  was  then  bound 
upon  the  Cross,  which  was  raised,  and  fastened  into  the 
cavity  prepared  for  it.  Heavy  nails  were  driven  through  the 
hands  and  feet  of  Jesus,  and  the  horrible  torture  of  the  cru- 
cifixion began. 

The  peculiar  feature  of  death  by  crucifixion  was  its  igno- 
miny. It  was  a  form  of  death  with  which  it  was  impossible 
to  associate  the  least  idea  of  dignity ;  its  associations  were 
altogether  sordid  and  depraved.  The  fact  that  a  man  dies 
by  public  execution  may  be  jaainful  to  remember,  but  it  is 
not  necessarily  dishonorable  or  shameful.  Socrates  was 
executed,  but  it  was  under  circumstances  which  did  not  make 


THE  DEATH  OF  JESUS  415 

personal  dignity  impossible.  Many  martyrs  have  died  upon 
the  scaffold  and  at  the  stake ;  but  while  men  may  have  been 
disgusted  at  the  barbarity  of  the  means  of  death  employed, 
none  have  felt  them  to  be  inherently  shameful.  The  common 
form  of  Jewish  execution  was  by  stoning ;  but  barbarous  as 
this  death  was,  yet  is  was  so  little  shameful  that  there  had 
been  those  who  still  were  heroes  in  Jewish  memory  in  spite 
of  the  nature  of  their  death.  But  crucifixion  involved  a  kind 
of  shame  beyond  shame  :  indelible,  odious,  and  utterly  re- 
volting. Among  civilized  nations  who  allow  the  penalty  of 
death  for  capital  offences,  it  is  generally  agreed  that  the 
means  of  death  employed  should  be  swift.  Justice  is  con- 
tent with  the  fact  of  death,  and  does  not  demand  torture. 
But  in  crucifixion  the  pangs  of  dissolution  were  prolonged 
and  public.  It  was  no  unusual  thing  for  a  criminal  to  hang 
upon  his  cross  for  several  days,  expiring  at  last  from  sheer 
exhaustion.  The  modesty  of  death  itself  was  violated  in  this 
prolonged  public  exhibition  of  a  dreadful  agony.  Exjwsed 
to  a  pitiless  sun,  racked  with  a  furious  thirst,  often  derided 
by  the  passers-by,  liable  to  the  attacks  of  vultures  while  yet 
consciousness  survived — it  was  so  that  men  died  upon  the 
Cross,  under  every  aggravation  of  atrocity.  It  was  little 
wonder,  therefore,  that  the  Cross  was  regarded  with  a  pecul- 
iar abhorrence.  It  was  the  symbol  of  an  infamy  so  complete 
that  even  pity  was  alienated  :  of  a  dishonor  so  dire  that  the 
mind  refused  its  contemplation. 

The  truly  astonishing  thing  in  the  death  of  Jesus  is  that 
by  the  manner  of  His  dying  He  utterly  destroyed  these  evil 
associations  of  the  Cross,  and  replaced  them  with  ideas  of 
inexhaustible  beauty  and  significance.  He  died  with  a  dig- 
nity which  triumphed  absolutely  over  the  indignity  of  the 
Cross.  The  gibbet  of  the  slave  lost  its  shame  from  the  mo- 
ment Christ  was  nailed  upon  it.     That  which  had  been  loath- 


416  THE    LIFE    OF   CHRIST 

some  became  honorable,  that  which  had  been  hated  became 
reverenced  and  loved.  We  could  the  better  understand  this 
apotheosis  of  the  Cross  if  it  had  been  slow ;  but  the  marvel- 
lous thing  is  that  it  was  immediate.  Those  who  themselves 
saw  the  Cross  on  Golgotha  with  sickening  horror  and  revul- 
sion, lived  to  boast  of  the  instrument  of  death  which  they 
abhorred.  Instead  of  speaking  with  bated  breath  of  this 
dreadful  ignomy  inflicted  upon  One  whom  they  loved,  the 
Apostles  called  attention  to  it,  and  sought  to  fix  the  eyes  of 
the  world  upon  it.  St.  Paul  made  the  Cross  his  boast ;  he 
preached  not  only  Christ  to  the  Gentiles,  but  Christ  crucified. 
He  did  so  with  the  full  knowledge  that  the  Cross  was  an  of- 
fence, and  a  stumbling-block  to  the  Gentiles,  who  counted 
him  a  fool  in  such  glorying.  No  man  was  readier  than  he 
to  take  the  line  of  the  least  resistance  in  his  effort  to  conquer 
the  Gentile  mind ;  but  in  this  instance  he  deliberately  chal- 
lenged its  utmost  prejudice.  How  can  we  account  for  this 
extraordinary  attitude  of  thought  ?  How  can  we  account  for 
the  strange  success  which  it  achieved  ?  What  explanation 
can  we  give  of  this  total  reversal  of  prolonged  tradition, 
which  turned  infamy  to  glory,  and  clothed  the  gibbet  of  the 
slave  with  an  imperishable  sanctity  and  splendor  ?  The  only 
possible  reply  is  that  Jesus  changed  every  association  of  the 
Cross  by  the  way  in  which  He  died  upon  it.  Such  Divine 
grace  and  dignity  revealed  themselves  that  day  on  Golgotha, 
that  henceforth  the  Cross  of  Christ  became  the  central  fact 
of  human  history,  and  being  thus  lifted  up,  Christ  drew  all 
men  unto  Himself. 

Every  act  of  Jesus  in  these  last  hours  is  significant.  That 
majestic  deliberation,  which  we  have  remarked  in  all  the 
closing  acts  of  His  life,  did  not  fail  Him  now.  He  has 
passed  from  insult  to  insult,  ever  confronted  with  the  tortur- 
ing facts  of  human  baseness  ;  He  has  seen  Himself  betrayed, 


THE  DEATH  OF  JESUS  417 

denied,  and  forsaken  by  those  who  had  once  loved  Him  ;  He 
has  been  in  turn  the  victim  of  the  envy  of  the  priests,  the 
mockery  of  Herod,  and  the  weakness  of  Pilate ;  He  is  ex- 
hausted not  only  by  these  wounds  made  in  His  heart,  but  by 
lack  of  food,  and  a  long  night  of  physical  and  mental  agony  ; 
yet  He  is  never  so  much  a  conqueror  as  on  the  way  to  Gol- 
gotha. To  the  women  who  bewail  Him,  and  smite  upon 
their  breasts,  He  has  one  sternly  tender  word :  "  Weep  not 
for  Me,  but  for  yourselves,  and  for  your  children,  O  ye 
daughters  of  Jerusalem !  "  When  there  is  offered  to  Him, 
by  these  very  women,  who  were  members  of  a  charitable  as- 
sociation whose  work  it  was  to  soothe  the  pains  of  the  dy- 
ing, a  cup  of  strong  wine  mingled  with  myrrh,  He  refuses  it, 
because  He  knows  that  it  is  meant  to  deaden  His  conscious- 
ness under  the  approaching  agony.  He  will  .meet  death 
clear-eyed,  and  with  complete  self-possession.  He  has  acted 
throughout  as  One  who  surrenders  life,  because  the  work  of 
life  is  finished,  and  so  He  will  act  to  the  last.  No  plea  for 
mercy  has  escaped  Him ;  no  merciful  mitigation  of  His  pain 
can  be  accepted  now ;  heroic  to  the  last,  He  will  meet  death 
with  an  unflinching  will.  We  may  say  perhaps  that  it  was 
with  this  refusal  of  an  anodyne  that  the  transformation  of 
the  Cross  began.  Pity  changed  to  awe  when  men  beheld 
not  only  the  calmness,  but  the  aspect  of  resolution  with 
which  Christ  faced  His  end.  His  words,  uttered  from  the 
Cross  itself,  deepened  this  impression.  The  Roman  soldiers, 
accustomed  to  the  frantic  curses  of  those  whom  they  cruci- 
fied, heard  with  startled  ears  the  quiet  voice  which  prayed, 
"  Father,  forgive  them,  for  they  know  not  what  they  do." 
He  had  already  triumphed  long  before  the  end  came.  Be- 
fore the  eyes  of  all  who  watched  Him,  save  those  deadly  en- 
emies whom  no  knowledge  could  enlighten,  the  Cross  slowly 
changed  to  an  altar;  infamy  became  idyllic;  shame  was 
27 


418  THE   LIFE   OF   CHRIST 

turned  to  glory.  When,  in  the  end  of  the  day,  the  Roman 
centurion  himself  exclaimed,  "  Truly  this  was  the  Son  of 
God,"  he  did  but  sum  up  a  series  of  impressions  which  were 
destined  to  create  the  same  astonishment  and  faith  in  the 
whole  world,  as  the  story  of  the  death  of  Christ  became  more 
widely  known. 

In  the  meantime  the  enemies  of  Christ  were  far  from 
happy.  Nothing  is  so  bitter  to  a  persecutor  as  to  see  his 
victim  elude  him  after  all,  by  those  nobler  qualities  of  nature 
of  which  he  cannot  be  deprived.  They  became  more  and 
more  conscious  of  the  effects  of  His  dignity  upon  the  multi- 
tude. Perhaps  they  regretted  the  publicity  of  the  death  they 
had  themselves  designed,  when  they  saw  the  opportunity  it 
afforded  for  the  revelation  of  Christ's  inmost  character.  It 
is  quite  certain  that  they  were  also  uneasy  on  other  grounds. 
The  tablet  which  had  been  carried  before  Jesus  to  the  place 
of  execution  was  now  nailed  upon  the  Cross.  An  immense 
concourse  had  assembled  between  Golgotha  and  the  Damas- 
cus Gate,  and  each  read  with  astonishment  the  words,  "  This 
is  Jesus,  the  King  of  the  Jews."  It  was  an  insult  to  the 
entire  nation,  and  was  bitterly  resented.  And  it  was  impos- 
sible to  foresee  what  form  this  resentment  might  take.  Had 
the  multitude  really  believed  that  the  true  Messiah  was  being 
crucified  by  the  act  of  the  Romans,  there  is  little  doubt  that 
a  rescue  would  have  been  attempted.  The  Roman  soldiers 
at  the  Cross  were  few,  and  would  have  been  unable  to  resist 
the  mob.  In  frantic  consternation  the  Sanhedrists  now 
rushed  to  Pilate,  and  implored  him  to  change  the  form  of 
the  words  to  "  He  said,  I  am  the  King  of  the  Jews."  But 
Pilate,  glad  of  an  opportunity  of  insulting  safely  men  from 
whom  he  had  already  endured  such  great  humiliations,  re- 
plies curtly,  "  What  I  have  written,  I  have  written."  He  is 
indifferent  to  any  threat  of  rescue ;  perhaps  in  his  heart  he 


THE  DEATH  OF  JESUS  419 

would  have  welcomed  it.  The  baffled  priests  can  think  of 
no  better  device  to  lessen  the  effect  of  the  title  which  is  writ- 
ten on  the  Cross  than  to  mock  Jesus.  Yet  even  their  mock- 
ery is  the  fruit  of  fear.  "  He  saved  others,  Himself  He  can- 
not save,"  they  cry ;  but  even  while  they  speak  some  think 
that  they  hear  Jesus  crying  for  Elijah  to  come  and  save  Him, 
and  there  is  a  general  expectation  of  some  miracle  of  strange 
deliverance.  So  little  does  crime  believe  in  itself,  so  little  is 
injustice  confident  or  content  in  its  achievements !  But  to 
Jesus,  let  us  hope,  these  bitter  insults  were  inaudible ;  the 
last  agony  had  already  commenced.  Between  Him  and  them 
the  silence  of  the  tomb  was  already  beginning  to  interpose, 
and  all  the  voices  of  the  earth  sounded  dim,  and  vague,  and 
unintelligible. 

Yet  not  all  voices.  Beside  Him  hung  a  man  who  suffered 
the  pangs  of  the  same  death  without  the  same  consolations. 
This  man  now  begins  to  speak  in  broken  accents  to  the  dy- 
ing Lord,  and  his  words  seem  to  imply  that  he  was  not 
wholly  unacquainted  with  the  history  of  Jesus.  It  may  be 
that  already  he  had  heard  the  words  of  One  who  was  the 
Friend  of  publicans  and  sinners.  Beside  the  Sea  of  Galilee, 
within  the  streets  of  Jerusalem,  or  far  away  on  the  coast  of 
Tyre  and  Sidon,  he  had  stood  on  the  fringe  of  some  great 
multitude,  and  had  heard  strange  words  about  a  Kingdom, 
which  he  did  not  understand  and  soon  forgot.  But  the  face 
of  Christ  he  did  not  forget,  nor  the  tender  pleading  of  His 
voice ;  and  now,  by  a  strange  irony  of  destiny,  he  finds  him- 
self hanging  beside  One  whose  voice  had  already  stirred 
strange  chords  in  his  miserable  heart.  He  perceives  clearly 
that  some  unjust  fate  has  overtaken  Jesus.  He  does  not  for 
an  instant  think  of  Him  as  a  comrade  in  guilt.  He  himself 
suffers  duly  the  reward  of  his  deeds,  but  Jesus  can  have 
done  nothing  amiss.     What  the  Kingdom  is  that  Jesus  spoke 


420  THE    LIFE    OF   CHRIST 

about  on  that  half-forgotten  day  :  what  is  the  meaning  of 
that  strange  writing  placed  above  His  head,  he  does  not 
know ;  but  he  conceives  a  sudden  passion  to  be  always 
where  Jesus  is.  He  is  afraid  of  death,  and  he  would  cling 
to  One  for  whom  death  seems  to  have  no  terror.  He  is 
sinking  into  the  great  darkness,  and  he  would  steady  him- 
self upon  the  hand  of  One  stronger  than  himself.  So  the 
man  prays  his  simple,  ignorant,  pathetic  prayer,  "  Lord,  re- 
member me  when  Thou  comest  into  Thy  Kingdom."  And 
Jesus  replies,  "  To-day  shalt  thou  be  with  Me  in  Paradise." 
"With  this  solitary  trophy  of  His  grace,  like  a  flower  placed 
in  the  hand  of  the  dead,  Jesus  will  enter  the  dark  abysses  of 
the  under-world.  And  He,  who  came  not  to  call  the  right- 
eous, but  sinners  to  repentance,  is  content  that  it  should  be  so. 
Yet  again,  before  the  end,  the  voice  of  Jesus  is  heard  in 
definite  command.  St.  John  tells  us  that  he  and  the  mother 
of  Jesus  stood  near  the  Cross,  and  the  probability  that  His 
mother  would  be  near  Him  at  the  last,  and,  if  there  at  all, 
would  be  in  the  company  of  some  disciple,  is  so  great  that 
Ave  need  attach  little  weight  to  the  fact  that  the  Synoptics 
omit  the  circumstance.  Joseph  was  long  since  dead,  and 
Mary  had  long  regarded  Jesus  as  the  head  of  her  humble 
household.  Perhaps  she  had  found  little  comfort  in  the 
other  members  of  her  family,  who  were  openly  hostile  to 
Jesus.  She  was  now  about  to  be  left  doubly  alone  in  the 
world.  On  her,  even  more  than  on  her  Son,  fell  the  full 
horror  of  the  Cross.  Who  indeed  henceforth  would  care  to 
associate  with  this  broken-hearted  woman  Avhose  Son  had 
died  the  death  of  a  slave,  and  to  whom  could  she  turn  foi 
consolation?  Jesus  now  completes  that  lesson  of  spiritual 
relationships,  as  the  only  real  relationships,  which  Mary  had 
once  found  so  hard  to  understand.  His  mother  and  His 
brethren  were  those  who  did  His  will,  He  had  then  said ; 


THE  DEATH  OF  JESUS  421 

and  they  who  forsook  all  to  follow  Him  would  not  fail  to 
find  mothers,  and  brethren,  and  sisters,  who  were  theirs  by 
a  tenderer  tie  than  the  bond  of  birth  and  blood.  So  it  was 
to  be  through  all  time ;  spiritual  affinity  was  to  supply  the 
place  of  blood  relationships,  to  supersede  them,  to  create  a 
finer  ecstacy  of  love,  and  by  the  novel  force  of  these  affini- 
ties the  Church  was  to  grow  into  existence.  And  so  Jesus, 
not  only  with  a  natural  thoughtfulness  for  one  whose  life 
was  left  unto  her  desolate,  but  with  a  profound  vision  of  the 
new  society  which  would  spring  up  from  His  teachings,  now 
turns  to  His  mother,  and  says,  "  Woman,  behold  thy  son  "  ; 
and  to  John  he  says,  "  Behold  thy  mother."  And  in  that 
hour  all  the  offence  of  John  was  pardoned.  Jesus  obliter- 
ated the  memory  of  the  Hall  of  Caiaphas  when  He  gave  His 
mother  to  the  custody  of  John. 

These  scenes  could  only  have  occurred  in  the  early  stages 
of  the  crucifixion,  when  the  power  of  thought  and  conscious- 
ness was  complete.  Slowly  deep  clouds  began  to  gather  in 
the  soul  of  Jesus  as  the  supreme  moment  of  dissolution  drew 
:  ear ;  and,  as  if  Nature  herself  sympathized  with  the  tragic 
hour,  at  the  same  time  a  great  darkness  began  to  gather  over 
the  whole  land.  We  might  interpret  this  darkness  as  sym- 
bolic only — the  subjective  emotion  of  Christ  cast  into  ob- 
jective form— did  not  the  whole  narrative  support  the  state- 
ment that  a  real  physical  phenomenon  occurred.  Darkness 
frequently  precedes  an  earthquake  in  the  East.  In  such 
hours  it  is  as  though  the  course  of  Nature  were  arrested ;  an 
appalling  silence  reigns ;  the  world  seems  to  cower  before 
some  impending  blow ;  and  ever  higher  moves  a  bastion  of 
blackest  cloud,  till  the  sun  is  blotted  out  and  day  is  over- 
whelmed in  untimely  night.  Such  a  dreadful  night  now  fell 
upon  Jerusalem,  and  in  a  yet  deeper  gloom  the  soul  of  Jesus 
groped  its  unfriended  way.     Broken  words  fell  from  Him. 


422  THE    LIFE    OF   CHRIST 

Once  He  cried  that  He  thirsted,  and  a  Roman  soldier,  no 
longer  capable  of  mockery,  hastened  to  offer  Him  a  sponge 
soaked  with  rough  country  wine.  His  mind  turned  instinc- 
tively to  those  Scriptures  of  His  nation  which  had  so  long 
been  the  stay  and  inspiration  of  His  thought.  Passages  of 
the  twenty-second  Psalm  came  to  His  lips :  "  My  God,  my 
God,  why  hast  Thou  forsaken  Me?  Why  art  Thou  so  far 
from  helping  Me  ?  .  .  .  I  am  a  reproach  of  men,  and 
despised  of  the  people.  .  .  .  All  they  that  see  Me  laugh 
Me  to  scorn  .  .  .  they  shoot  out  the  lip,  they  shake  the 
head,  saying,  He  trusted  on  the  Lord  that  He  would  deliver 
Him ;  let  Him  deliver  Him,  seeing  He  delighted  in  Him." 
So  in  the  darkness  the  solemn  recitation  went  on,  above  the 
heads  of  the  terrified  soldiers  and  the  quailing  crowd.  Some 
thought  He  was  delirious  with  thirst,  and  again  a  soldier 
offered  Him  drink ;  others  that  He  cried  on  Elijah  to  deliver 
Him,  There  was  as  yet  no  sign  of  imminent  death.  The 
voice  that  cried  through  the  gloom  was  clear  and  strong. 
Suddenly  there  was  a  change,  wholly  astonishing  to  his  ex- 
ecutioners. A  great  and  terrible  cry  rang  from  the  Sufferer's 
lips.  Some  who  listened  heard  Him  say,  "Father,  into  Thy 
hands  I  commend  My  spirit."  Others  heard  Him  say,  "It 
is  finished ! "  In  the  same  moment  the  first  vibration  of  the 
earthquake  shook  the  hill.  The  crowd  ran  hither  and  thither, 
terrified  and  maddened  by  the  dreadful  darkness.  They  saw 
with  horror  the  graves  in  the  adjoining  burial-ground  shat- 
tered and  wrenched  apart.  From  Jerusalem  itself  rose  ter- 
rible cries  of  panic,  and  a  rumor  spread  that  the  Temple  it- 
self was  riven  by  the  earthquake.  Golgotha  was  deserted, 
save  by  the  Boman  guard,  who  dared  not  leave  their  post. 
When  at  last  the  darkness  lifted,  they  came  nearer  to  the 
Cross,  determined  to  break  the  legs  of  the  dying  men  and 
make  an  end  of  a  scene  which  had  now  become  even  to  their 


THE  DEATH  OF  JESUS  423 

hardened  nerves  unbearable.  They  then  saw  that  Jesus  was 
dead.  It  was  as  though  the  world  itself  had  become  the 
darkened  bier  of  the  dead  God ;  and  so  the  centurion  felt  it 
when  he  cried,  "  This  is  the  Son  of  God." 

Jesus  died  of  a  broken  heart.  The  terrifying  cry  which 
all  had  heard  marked  the  moment  of  a  fatal  rapture  of  the 
heart.  When  a  Roman  soldier  thrust  his  lance  into  the  side 
of  the  dead  Christ  it  pierced  the  lung  and  then  the  pericar- 
dium, and  from  the  wound  flowed  blood  and  water.  John 
alone  witnessed  the  phenomenon.  It  made  so  deep  an  im- 
pression on  his  mind  that  in  extreme  old  age  he  spoke  of 
Christ  as  One  who  "  came  by  water  and  blood ;  not  by  water 
only,  but  by  water  and  blood."  John  saw  something  sym- 
bolic in  this  phenomenon ;  the  modern  reader  sees  rather  a 
dreadful  witness  to  the  agony  which  Christ  endured.  From 
the  moment  when  the  Last  Supper  ended  no  food  had  passed 
the  lips  of  Christ,  and  every  moment  had  been  crowded  with 
intolerable  agony.  The  physical  pain  which  He  endured 
was  but  part  of  this  accumulated  torture ;  in  His  betrayal,  in 
the  outrages  heaped  upon  Him  by  the  priests,  in  the  tremen- 
dous storm  of  execration  which  broke  upon  Him  from  every 
side,  in  the  horror  of  this  exhibition  of  the  diabolism  of  hu- 
man nature,  in  His  sense  of  the  weight  of  all  human  sin 
which  pressed  upon  Him,  in  His  desertion  not  only  by  man 
but  by  God,  wave  after  wave  of  agony  swept  over  Him,  until 
the  torn  and  wounded  heart  could  endure  no  more.  He  suc- 
cumbed not  to  physical  injuries,  but  to  the  violence  of  His 
own  emotions.  And  in  this  was  the  proof  that  God  had  not 
deserted  Him.  By  what  seems  almost  a  miracle  to  the  Ro- 
man soldiers  His  sufferings  were  mysteriously  abridged. 
Six  brief  hours  of  suffering  had  brought  that  sweet  release 
of  death  which  in  ordinary  crucifixions  came  only  after  many 
hours,  and  even  many  days. 


424  THE    LIFE    OF   CHRIST 

Terror  still  reigned  in  Jerusalem.  Under  ordinary  circum- 
stances few  tilings  can  be  so  appalling  as  the  long,  sickening 
heave  of  the  earth  when  the  seismic  wave  passes  through  it, 
and  the  ghastly  darkness  added  to  the  general  terror.  A 
sense  of  national  guilt  now  linked  these  phenomena  with  the 
death  of  Jesus.  It  was  as  though  God  Himself  smote  the 
city  for  its  wickedness.  The  darkness  seemed  the  symbol  of 
the  face  of  God  withdrawn.  The  earthquake  worked  its 
direst  havoc  in  the  Temple  buildings  themselves.  We  are 
told  that  in  the  instant  when  Christ  expired  the  veil  of  the 
Temple,  a  heavy  curtain  covering  the  Holy  of  Holies, 
which  could  only  be  moved  by  the  united  strength  of  many 
priests,  was  rent  in  twain.  Josephus  and  other  contempo- 
rary writers  have  recorded  the  fact  that  about  this  time  the 
Temple  gates  rolled  back  of  themselves,  and  the  middle  and 
chief  light  in  the  Golden  Candlestick  was  extinguished.  It 
is  more  than  probable  that  this  is  a  direct  reference  to  the 
earthquake  which  wrought  such  alarming  devastation  in  the 
Temple  on  the  day  when  Jesus  died.  In  such  a  moment  the 
priests  would  not  forget  the  words  of  Him  whom  they  had 
slain :  that  the  day  would  come  when  not  one  stone  of  the 
Temple  would  be  left  upon  another.  Already,  it  would  seem 
to  them,  the  death  of  Jesus  was  aveuged.  They  had  feared 
Him  living ;  they  feared  Him  yet  more  in  the  moment  of  His 
death. 

In  the  ordinary  course  of  things  the  dead  Body  would 
have  been  left  upon  the  Cross  until  the  vultures  had  destro}*ed 
it ;  but  this  last  indignity  was  not  to  be.  Perhaps  the  priests 
were  anxious  to  remove  at  once  the  dreadful  witness  of  their 
crime ;  it  is  at  least  certain  that  they  raised  no  objection  to 
the  burial  of  Jesus.  One  of  the  secret  followers  of  Jesus, 
Joseph  of  Arimathea,  together  with  Nicodemus,  at  once  went 
to  Pilate,  and  obtained  permission  to  remove  the  Body.     The 


THE  DEATH  OF  JESUS  425 

Garden  at  the  foot  of  Golgotha  belonged  to  Joseph,  and  in 
the  limestone  cliff  at  the  north  of  the  Garden  he  had  already 
built  for  himself  a  sepulchral  chamber.  To  this  chamber  the 
Body  was  borne.  Nicodenms  had  brought  with  him  myrrh 
and  aloes,  with  which  the  Body  was  anointed ;  it  was  then 
wrapped  in  linen  grave-clothes  and  laid  in  the  Tomb.  It 
was  now  evening,  and  the  next  day  was  the  Sabbath.  Haste 
characterized  all  the  actions  of  the  friends  of  Jesus.  The 
embalmment  itself  was  hasty,  for  the  evident  intention  was  to 
complete  it  when  the  Sabbath  was  past.  Amid  the  evening 
light — for  the  darkness  had  now  passed — the  women  who 
had  loved  Christ  best  stood  dissolved  in  tears  and  watched 
the  last  sad  and  sacred  rites.  The  stone  which  ran  in  a 
groove  before  the  open  doorway  of  the  vault  was  then  rolled 
into  its  place.  At  the  same  moment  a  band  of  soldiers  ar- 
rived, with  instructions  to  seal  the  stone  and  to  keep  guard 
over  the  sepulchre,  lest  the  Body  should  be  desecrated  or  re- 
moved. The  friends  of  Jesus  then  left  the  Garden,  and  the 
silence  of  the  night  fell  upon  the  scene. 

Thus  Jesus  died  ;  young,  beloved,  adored,  yet  rejected  and 
despised  by  all  but  a  few  of  His  own  countrymen.  The  de- 
feat of  the  Galilean  movement  seemed  complete.  The  most 
that  His  friends  could  hope  was  that  His  memory,  sanctified 
by  death,  would  haunt  a  few  minds  for  a  few  years,  like  a 
sacred  dream.  It  would  then  slowly  fade  away,  as  the 
memory  of  the  dead  must  fade,  however  well-beloved,  and  at 
last  dissolve.  Here  and  there,  for  some  brief  years,  a  man 
or  woman  would  speak  of  Him  with  tenderness,  would  recall 
His  aspect  or  His  words,  but  the  life  of  the  great  strenuous 
world  would  roll  on,  and  at  last  obliterate  all  traces  of  His 
name.  He  had  passed  like  a  bright  apparition  on  the  dusty 
roads  of  life,  and  had  gone  never  to  return.  All  the  hopes 
He  had  encouraged  seemed  falsified  and  empty.     Of  all  the 


426  THE    LIFE    OF   CHRIST 

happy  throngs  whom  He  had  gathered  to  His  side,  no  single 
man  was  found  capable  of  leadership,  with  a  spirit  or  a 
genius  to  continue  His  work,  nor  was  there  the  least  sign  of 
any  rallying  force  in  the  movement  which  He  had  begun. 
He  was  one  of  those  whose  names  are  "writ  in  water,"  one 
more  of  that  sad  company  who  win  affection  by  their  very 
failure,  which  perhaps  they  would  not  have  won  by  conspicu- 
ous success.  At  His  grave  Regret  might  sit,  mourning  hopes 
denied,  visions  unfulfilled,  purposes  unaccomplished.  His 
very  death  was  such  as  to  destroy  all  faith  in  human  pro- 
gress. Once  more  iniquity  had  triumphed  over  righteousness, 
and  wickedness  had  trampled  on  the  pure  and  good.  Long 
years  would  pass  before  another  dared  attempt  the  task  in 
which  He  failed ;  for  such  a  story  was  deterrent  to  enthusi- 
asm, such  a  death  affirmed  the  folly  of  expecting  too  much 
from  average  human  nature.  These  were  the  thoughts  of 
the  friends  of  Jesus  on  this  fateful  night.  It  was  for  them 
a  night  of  despair  and  grief  that  knew  no  remedy.  Among 
the  enemies  of  Jesus  more  sombre  thoughts  prevailed,  in 
which  victorious  malice  was  predominant.  Never  again 
would  they  hear  that  voice  whose  calm  authority  rebuked 
their  sins.  Hanan  slept  satisfied  with  his  success  :  Pilate 
had  already  turned  his  mind  away  from  a  series  of  events 
which  he  remembered  with  disgust.  Already  Jesus  was  for- 
gotten, and  the  world  which  He  had  sought  to  force  into  a 
loftier  groove  still  kept  its  ancient  course  of  fraud  and  folly, 
wrong  and  crime,  and  so  would  continue  to  the  end,  when 
the  human  race  itself  would  cease  through  mere  weariness  of 
life  and  disgust  at  its  futility.  And  so  it  might  have  been 
if  the  life  of  Jesus  had  really  ended  at  the  Cross.  But  in 
the  silence  of  that  awful  night  Divine  forces  were  at  work  in 
the  Tomb  where  Jesus  slept.  The  Night  had  closed  upon 
the  world  indeed ;  but  there  was  a  Morning  close  at  hand. 


THE  DEATH  OF  JESUS  427 

And  with  that  morning  there  would  come  for  Christ  and  for 
the  world  "  another  era,  when  it  shall  be  light,  and  man  will 
awaken  from  his  lofty  dreams  and  find — his  dreams  still 
there,  and  that  nothing  is  gone  save  his  sleep." 


CHAPTER  XXX 

THE    RESURRECTION   AND   AFTER 

Before  the  Resurrection  of  Jesus  can  be  at  all  discussed 
we  must  be  assured  that  He  was  really  dead.  A  popular 
theory  of  the  earlier  rationalism  was  that  Christ  swooned 
upon  the  Cross ;  that  the  simulation  of  death  was  so  com- 
plete that  it  deceived  everybody ;  and  that  in  this  state  of 
swoon  or  trance  He  was  laid  in  the  Tomb,  where  after  three 
days  He  revived  and  awoke.  The  theory  has  long  since  been 
discarded  because  its  inherent  difficulties  are  insuperable. 
It  is  incredible  that  the  Roman  soldiers,  accustomed  to  pub- 
lic executions,  should  have  acknowledged  for  dead  One  who 
was  not  dead ;  that  Joseph  of  Arimathea,  in  his  sacred  task 
of  anointing  the  wounded  Body,  should  have  had  no  suspi- 
cion that  the  death  was  not  real ;  that  the  priests  should  not 
have  assured  themselves  that  He  whom  they  laid  in  the 
guarded  sepulchre  was  quite  beyond  their  malice ;  that  in 
fact  all  these  persons,  including  Pilate  himself,  should  have 
connived  at  a  mock  burial,  or  have  acquiesced  in  it  through 
ignorance.  The  soldiers  were  certainly  astonished  that  Jesus 
had  expired  so  soon,  but  they  made  the  fact  of  death  doubly 
sure  by  the  lance-thrust  which  penetrated  the  lung  and  the 
pericardium.  The  priests  were  suspicious  that  the  Body 
might  be  stolen,  and  they  were  uneasy  at  the  rumor  that 
Christ  had  said  that  He  would  rise  again ;  but  they  never 
doubted  that  He  was  really  dead.  The  disciples,  in  their 
utter  grief  and  dismay,  bore  witness  to  the  same  conviction. 
On  the  night  when  the  Holy  Corpse  was  taken  from  the 

428 


THE  RESURRECTION  AND  AFTER    429 

Cross  and  laid  in  the  tomb  of  Joseph,  there  was  not  a  single 
person  who  was  not  fully  assured  that  Jesus  of  Nazareth  was 
dead. 

This  fact,  which  we  may  accept  as  historic  and  indubita- 
ble, has  an  important  bearing  on  the  condition  of  mind  which 
characterized  the  disciples.  If  we  could  assure  ourselves 
that  they  had  any  reason,  however  ill-grounded,  to  sup- 
pose that  the  death  of  Christ  was  an  illusion,  we  might 
argue  that  the  idea  of  resurrection  arose  from  this  illusion, 
and  that  they  brought  themselves  to  see  that  which  they  de- 
sired to  see.  The  visions  of  Christ  which  they  afterward 
believed  they  saw  might  then  be  attributed  to  a  predisposi- 
tion of  mind,  subjective  emotion  producing  what  passed  for 
objective  phenomena.  We  may  admit  at  once  that  such  a 
theory  has  a  certain  plausibility.  In  the  moment  which  fol- 
lows the  decease  of  some  beloved  person  the  sense  of  his 
presence  as  still  near  the  mourner  is  often  overwhelming. 
The  accents  of  the  familiar  voice  still  linger  in  the  porches  of 
the  ear,  the  magnetism  of  his  presence  still  sends  waves  of 
vibration  through  the  heart.  We  have  to  ask  ourselves,  how- 
ever, whether  such  sensations  are  not  the  fruit  of  some  vague 
or  intense  belief  in  something  immortal  in  man ;  whether  our 
nerves  would  quiver  with  the  sense  of  the  ghostly  nearness 
of  the  dead,  unless  we  had  accustomed  ourselves  to  think  of 
the  spiritual  life  of  man  as  separable  from  his  physical  or- 
ganism. In  other  words,  we  must  first  of  all  assert  immor- 
tality and  spiritual  existence  of  the  dead  before  we  imagine 
them  as  near  us.  Men  who  hold  no  such  creed,  and  regard 
death  as  finality  and  annihilation,  are  not  disturbed  by  such 
tender  fancies. 

Were  the  disciples  predisposed  to  such  a  belief  ?  There 
is  everything  to  prove  the  exact  contrary.  Jesus  had  often 
spoken  to  them  of  His  death  and  resurrection,  but  they  had 


430  THE    LIFE    OF   CHRIST 

regarded  neither  as  possible.  They  perhaps  believed  and 
hoped  that  He  who  had  wrought  so  many  miracles  would 
certainly  redeem  Himself  from  the  Cross ;  but  in  the  hour 
when  Jesus  died,  all  hope  died  in  them.  They  were  no 
longer  a  united  band ;  the  confraternity  was  broken  up. 
Dismay  reigned  supreme,  and  they  were  in  despair.  They 
went  to  their  own  homes,  nor  was  there  any  one  disciple 
cajjable  of  offering  the  least  encouragement  to  the  scattered 
flock.  For  a  long  time  they  had  been  lifted  beyond  them- 
selves, and  beyond  traditional  Jewish  ideas,  by  the  superior 
idealism  of  Jesus ;  but  with  His  death  they  sank  at  once  to 
the  level  of  ordinary  Jewish  thought.  And  in  ordinary  Jew- 
ish thought,  it  must  be  recollected,  the  idea  of  a  spiritual 
personality  in  man  which  survives  death  scarcely  so  much  as 
existed.  The  spirit  returned  to  God  who  gave  it,  and  was 
reabsorbed  in  Him.  Death  was  the  last  refuge,  the  house 
of  sleep,  where  the  wicked  ceased  from  troubling  and  the 
weary  were  at  rest.  Man,  in  the  end  of  his  days,  laid  him- 
self down  with  the  dust  of  vanquished  generations,  and  was 
no  more  seen.  The  idea  of  resurrection,  openly  derided  by 
the  Sadducees,  was  held  with  extreme  vagueness  even  by  the 
most  pious  minds  of  the  nation.  So,  then,  we  may  conclude 
that  there  was  nothing  to  predispose  the  disciples  to  any 
faith  in  Christ's  Resurrection.  They  believed  His  soul  at 
rest  with  God,  far  from  the  care  and  strife  of  earth,  which 
He  would  nevermore  revisit.  They  were  incapable  of  creat- 
ing the  vision  of  the  Risen  Christ,  and  when  at  last  that 
Vision  swam  before  their  eyes,  they  doubted  the  witness  of 
their  senses,  and  regarded  it  with  terror  and  misgiving. 

It  was  late  on  Friday  evening  when  the  final  disposition 
of  the  corpse  was  made  in  Joseph's  Tomb,  and  the  Roman 
guard  arrived  to  begin  the  tedious  duties  of  their  night 
watch.     The  idea  of  the  Sanhedrists  in  arranging  this  strict 


THE  RESURRECTION  AND  AFTER    431 

guard  around  the  Tomb  was  evident.  If  by  any  means  the 
Body  of  Jesus  were  removed,  and  secreted  by  the  disciples, 
it  would  be  easy  to  create  a  legend  that,  like  Elijah,  He  had 
ascended  into  heaven  in  a  chariot  of  fire,  and  His  prophetic 
claims  would  be  resuscitated.  But  the  disciples  were  far  too 
broken-spirited  either  to  invent  or  to  accomplish  a  plot  so 
daring.  The  night  passed,  and  no  one  came  near  the  Tomb. 
The  next  day  was  the  Sabbath,  and  again  complete  silence 
reigned  in  the  Garden.  The  soldiers  passed  the  d&j  as 
they  could ;  jesting,  it  may  be,  with  ribald  satire  at  the  folly 
of  the  Jews,  and  of  Pilate,  in  setting  them  a  task  so  foolish, 
or  perhaps  gambling  sullenly  on  a  rough-drawn  checker, 
such  as  may  still  be  seen  incised  in  the  Pavement,  or  Gab- 
batha,  outside  Pilate's  house.  The  night  of  the  Sabbath 
came  at  last,  and  they  fell  asleep,  wearied  with  the  tedium 
of  an  empty  day.  Toward  morning  a  renewed  shock  of 
earthquake  ran  through  the  Garden,  and  they  woke  in  terror, 
to  discover  that  the  massive  stone  at  the  entrance  to  the 
Tomb  was  displaced.  They  rushed  at  once  into  the  city, 
full  of  alarm  at  an  event  so  unexpected,  and  fearful  of  the 
consequences  to  themselves.  Not  one  of  them  appears  to 
have  looked  into  the  sepulchre,  nor  suspected  it  was  empty. 

The  first  person  to  enter  the  Garden  was  Mary  Magda- 
lene, and  close  behind  her  followed  certain  other  women, 
bent  upon  a  common  task — the  complete  embalmment  of 
their  dead  Master.  They  knew  that  the  Tomb  was  closed 
with  a  massive  stone,  and  they  had  speculated  sadly,  as  they 
drew  near,  how  they,  with  their  feeble  strength,  could  roll 
away  the  stone.  There  still  remains  in  Jerusalem,  at  what 
is  called  the  Tomb  of  the  Kings,  one  of  these  stones  intact. 
It  resembles  a  millstone,  and  was  rolled  in  a  deep  groove  to 
its  place  before  the  low  entrance  to  ihe  Tomb.  It  was  vet 
dark  when  Mary  entered  the  Garden,  and  to  her  intense  sur- 


432  THE    LIFE    OF   CHRIST 

prise  she  saw  that  the  stone  was  either  rolled  back  in  its 
groove,  or  lay  shattered  before  the  now  open  entrance  to  the 
sepulchre.  Mary's  immediate  thought  was  that  the  Body  of 
Jesus  had  been  stolen.  Startled,  and  trembling  with  a  great 
fear,  she  turned  and  ran  at  once  to  find  John  and  Peter. 
She  met  the  two  disciples  not  far  from  the  Garden,  and  told 
them  that  the  Body  of  Jesus  had  been  taken  away.  The 
two  disciples,  equally  alarmed,  at  once  began  to  run  toward 
the  Garden,  and  found,  as  they  supposed,  a  spoliated 
sepulchre. 

In  order  to  comprehend  what  next  occurred  we  must  have 
before  us  an  exact  picture  of  the  Tomb  itself.  Let  us  pic- 
ture, then,  a  smooth  limestone  rock,  like  a  wall,  at  the  end 
of  the  Garden,  in  which  was  hewn  a  low  doorway  leading  to 
the  three  cavities  prepared  for  the  reception  of  the  dead.  It 
is  specifically  said  that  up  to  this  moment  neither  John  nor 
Peter  knew  the  Scripture  that  Christ  must  rise  again  from 
the  dead ;  that  is  to  say,  the  idea  of  a  resurrection  had  not 
occurred  to  them.  The  first  impression  on  the  mind  of  John 
was  that  the  Body  was  still  there.  Standing  in  the  low 
doorway  of  the  sepulchre,  in  the  dim  light,  he  saw  the  gleam 
of  something  white  in  the  hculus  where  the  Body  of  Jesus 
had  been  laid,  and  he  naturally  supposed  that  the  Body  was 
undisturbed.  But  Peter,  less  reverent  and  more  daring,  now 
entered  the  sepulchral  vault  itself,  and  saw  something  more 
than  John  had  seen.  "  He  seeth  the  linen  clothes  lying,  and 
the  napkin  that  was  about  His  head,  not  lying  with  the  linen 
clothes,  but  wrapped  together  in  a  place  by  itself."  The  im- 
pression created  by  these  words  is  that  Jesus  had  quietly 
awakened  out  of  sleep  and  had  disappeared ;  but  it  will  be 
seen  at  once  that  this  would  have  supplied  no  proof  of  a 
resurrection,  but  rather  the  reverse.  If  this  was  all  that 
Peter  had  seen,  he  might  have  believed  that  Jesus  had  in- 


THE  RESURRECTION  AND  AFTER    433 

deed  swooned  upon  the  Cross,  and  bad  been  buried  while  in 
a  trance,  from  which  He  had  awakened  in  the  moment  when 
the  earthquake  had  displaced  the  stone  before  the  door,  and 
had  then  stepped  forth  into  the  grey  dawn,  to  be  seen  no 
more  of  men.  Or  he  might  even  have  believed  that  Jesus, 
thus  wonderfully  released  from  the  Tomb,  was  at  that  mo- 
ment in  Jerusalem,  and  with  what  winged  feet  would  he  have 
left  the  Garden  to  seek  his  wronged  and  liberated  Lord  !  Or, 
again,  there  was  nothing  in  the  spectacle  of  these  grave- 
clothes  lying  in  their  places  to  suggest  even  that  Jesus  was 
alive  at  all.  The  Body  might  merely  have  been  removed, 
and  if,  as  was  probable,  it  had  been  removed  by  the  reverent 
hands  of  Joseph  or  of  Nicodemus,  the  grave-clothes  would 
have  been  replaced.  But  what  Peter  saw  was  something 
wholly  different.  He  saw  the  grave-clothes  lying  fold  for 
fold,  as  though  the  Body  still  reposed  beneath  them ;  he  saw 
the  white  turban  in  the  hollowed  niche  at  the  end  of  the 
stone  loculus,  as  if  the  head  of  Jesus  still  rested  there,  and 
he  was  instantly  aware  that  nothing  in  the  Tomb  had  been 
disturbed.  Everything  appeared  as  if  the  Body  were  still 
there,  and  yet  the  body  had  gone.  Etherealized  and  spiritu- 
alized, that  Divine  Body,  now  free  from  the  limitations  of 
physical  law,  had  passed  through  its  cerements,  had  floated 
upward,  light  as  ah*,  had  become  a  form  celestial.  It  was 
that  discovery  which  overwhelmed  the  mind  of  Peter.  "With 
a  silent,  awe-struck  gesture  he  called  John  to  look,  and  John 
followed  him  into  the  vault.  The  same  astounding  inference 
seized  upon  the  mind  of  John.  Fold  for  fold  the  grave- 
clothes  lay,  precisely  as  they  had  been  left  on  that  bitter 
Friday  evening  when  the  corpse  of  Jesus  had  been  laid  to 
rest  within  the  loculus,  yet  the  Body  was  not  there.  No 
hand  had  touched  the  Tomb.  No  sleeper  had  awakened  in 
horror  and  dismay  to  rush  forth  into  the  reassuring  light 
28 


434  THE    LIFE   OF   CHRIST 

of  day.  Spirit-free  and  clothed  with  immortality,  Jesus 
had  passed  through  all  material  obstructions,  and  was  alive 
in  His  new  celestial  nature.  Then  these  two  disciples  saw 
and  believed. 

This  was  the  moment  when  the  truth  of  a  Resurrection 
was  born,  and  yet,  it  will  be  observed,  at  present  it  was  only 
a  sublime  inference,  beset  by  many  doubts  and  difficulties. 
No  one  had  seen  the  Risen  Jesus ;  all  that  was  certain  was 
that  He  was  not  in  the  Tomb.  Peter  and  John  at  once  left 
the  Garden  in  an  ecstasy  of  hope.  They  left  behind  them 
one  Avatcher,  who  was  destined  to  supply  the  first  positive 
affirmation  of  their  hopes.  This  woman  was  Mary  Magda- 
lene. 

It  does  not  appear  that  the  two  disciples  communicated 
their  thoughts  to  Mary,  or  indeed  held  any  conversation  with 
her.  Perhaps  they  hardly  noticed  her.  In  the  sudden 
shock  of  wonder  and  of  joy  which  they  experienced  they 
were  as  men  in  a  dream.  They  could  hardly  believe  their 
own  belief.  An  awe-struck  silence  lay  upon  their  lips. 
Mary,  bowed  in  bitter  weeping,  scarcely  observed  their  de- 
parture. Had  the  two  disciples  informed  Mary  of  their 
astounding  discovery,  and  of  the  inference  which  thej^  drew 
from  it,  there  would  be  some  ground  for  the  suggestion  that 
Mary  was  now  prepared  to  see  what  she  afterward  affirmed 
she  saw.  A  highly  imaginative  woman,  already  assured  that 
a  miracle  had  occurred,  might  have  persuaded  herself  that  a 
further  miracle  did  occur.  There  are  many  instances  in  hu- 
man history  of  persons  who  have  persuaded  themselves  that 
they  have  seen  what  they  expected  to  see,  and  their  credulity 
scarcely  offends  us  because  it  is  allied  with  truly  pious  emo- 
tions, and  is  quite  unconscious  of  deliberate  fraud.  But  the 
narrative  is  conclusive  in  its  evidence  that  Mary  had  at  this 
moment  no  suspicion  of  the  truth  which  had  already  pos- 


THE  RESURRECTION  AND  AFTER    435 

sessed  the  minds  of  John  and  Peter.  She  had  given  but 
one  hasty,  terrified  glance  at  the  Tomb.  It  was  empty,  and 
her  sole  thought  was  that  the  Body  of  Jesus  had  been  stolen. 
She  sat  at  some  little  distance  from  the  doorway  of  the  vault, 
weeping  bitterly.  It  was  dreadful  for  her  to  think  that  the 
Tomb  had  been  profaned.  Was  Jesus  to  find  no  rest  even 
in  death  ?  Who  knew  what  even  now  might  be  happening 
to  the  sacred  Body  over  which  she  had  shed  such  tears  of 
passionate  lamentation  ?  Jewish  law  ordained  that  the  body 
of  a  criminal  should  be  buried  in  a  place  of  infamy,  and  it 
seemed  but  too  likely  that  the  tireless  enemies  of  Jesus  had 
robbed  the  Tomb  that  they  might  heap  this  further  degrada- 
tion on  the  dead.  Ah,  if  she  could  but  find  the  Body,  she 
herself  would  rescue  it  from  insult.  She  would  bear  it  away 
to  some  place  of  safe  interment ;  she  would  guard  it  as  Riz- 
pah  guarded  her  dead  sons,  and  God  would  doubtless  give 
her  strength  for  an  enterprise  so  sacred.  These  were  the 
thoughts  of  Mary.  So  far  was  she  from  even  hoping  to  see 
Jesus  alive  once  more,  that  in  her  heart  she  was  designing  a 
fresh  interment  of  the  Lord  she  loved,  where  He  could  sleep 
in  peace,  safe  from  all  His  enemies. 

The  gust  of  new-born  morning  shook  the  trees,  and  passed 
like  a  long  sigh  across  the  Garden,  and  Mary  looked  up. 
The  light  was  now  growing  clear,  and  a  sunbeam  lay  across 
the  doorway  of  the  Tomb.  It  seemed  to  her  as  though  two 
shining  angels  sat  in  the  vault,  and  a  soft  whisper  floated  to 
her,  "Woman,  why  weepest  thou?"  She  replies  with  the 
thought  which  lies  so  heavy  on  her  heart :  "  They  have  taken 
away  my  Lord,  and  I  know  not  where  they  have  laid  Him." 
In  the  same  instant  a  light  footstep,  drawing  nearer  through 
the  dewy  silence  of  the  Garden,  arrests  her  ear.  One  stands 
beside  her  whom  she  takes  to  be  the  gardener,  and  He  re- 
peats the  question,  "Woman,  why  weepest  thou?     Whom 


436  THE    LIFE    OF   CHRIST 

seekest  thou  ?  "  She  scarcely  lifts  lier  head  to  answer  for  a 
second  time  a  question  so  full  of  torture.  Shaken  with  sobs, 
she  makes  her  agonized  reply,  "  Sir,  if  thou  have  borne  Him 
hence,  tell  me  where  thou  hast  laid  Him,  and  I  will  take 
Him  away."  The  woman  who  made  this  appeal  was  surely 
not  one  whose  mind  was  capable  of  creating  in  an  instant  the 
phantasm  of  a  Risen  Christ,  "a  resuscitated  God."  It  is  a 
cry  of  poignant  grief,  of  courageous  despair.  The  figure  at 
her  side  utters  one  word — "Mary!"  It  is  uttered  with  a 
well-remembered  accent  which  recalls  Galilee,  Jesus,  ended 
madness,  passionate  love,  a  thousand  hopes  and  fears,  the 
beautiful  and  tragic  history  of  a  lifetime !  One  word  leaps 
to  her  lijDs,  one  word  alone  is  possible,  uttered  in  overwhelmed 
and  rapturous  surprise,  "Eabboni,  Master!  "  For  one  brief 
moment  she  has  not  been  able  to  reconcile  the  tumult  of  her 
thoughts :  her  mind  trembles  on  its  balance,  as  if  the  old 
madness  had  returned,  but  in  a  strange  delirium  of  joy.  The 
Image  that  lives  in  her  mind,  to  the  exclusion  of  all  other 
images,  is  of  Jesus  on  the  Cross,  pallid,  blood-smeared, 
dreadful,  disfigured  out  of  all  knowledge  by  the  hand  of 
Tragedy,  which  has  buffeted  and  bruised  Him.  This  Jesus 
was  not  the  Jesus  she  had  seen  on  Calvary ;  it  is  another 
Jesus,  yet  the  same,  Whom  she  had  seen  in  Magdala,  with 
all  the  morning  shining  in  His  eyes !  It  is  the  Jesus  of 
Galilee  and  the  lakeside,  the  Jesus  of  the  lilies  and  the  open 
fields,  standing  in  the  silent  dawn  with  perhaps  the  gathered 
lilies  in  His  hands,  fresh,  young,  smiling,  the  Jesus  of  the 
Garden,  whom  she  had  mistaken  for  the  gardener.  Words 
no  longer  have  significance  for  her;  in  dumb  ecstasy  she 
falls  upon  her  knees,  and  stretches  out  her  hands  to  touch 
the  sacred  feet.  She  hears  as  one  beyond  hearing,  suddenly 
translated  into  a  strange  new  w@rld  where  silence  is  as 
speech,  the  Divine  murmur  of  a  voice  above  her,  saying, 


THE  RESURRECTION  AND  AFTER    437 

"  Touch  Ma  not,  for  I  am  not  yet  ascended  to  My  Father ; 
but  go  to  My  brethren  and  say  unto  them,  I  ascend  unto  My 
Father  and  your  Father,  and  to  my  God  and  your  God." 
The  vision  lingers  for  an  instant  longer,  but  Mary  dares  not 
look  on  it  again.  Mysterious  hope  and  healing  flow  into  her 
wounded  heart,  leaving  it  enraptured.  She  rises  from  her 
knees  with  the  glad  cry  upon  her  lips :  "  I  have  seen  the 
Lord,  and  He  has  spoken  with  me,"  and  she  hastens  from 
the  Garden  that  she  may  pour  her  story  into  the  ears  of 
John  and  Peter.  Henceforth  the  Garden  lies  deserted. 
Nevermore  shall  He  be  seen  among  its  flowers ;  vainly  shall 
the  groups  of  awe-struck  friends  gather  round  its  gates  and 
watch  for  some  faint  glimpse  of  Him  whom  Mary  saw. 
Bat  on  its  fragrant  ah  the  message  lingers — "He  is  not  here  : 
He  is  risen  "  ;  and  in  the  hour  when  Mary  found  her  God,  the 
world  found  its  redemption  and  its  faith. 

Mary  was  not  believed.  Even  Peter  and  John  would  feel 
that  it  was  one  thing  to  believe  that  Christ  had  mysteriously 
vanished  from  the  Tomb,  and  quite  another  to  represent  Him 
as  still  visible  to  human  eyes,  still  capable  of  communicating 
His  wishes  and  His  love  to  human  hearts.  Perhaps  they 
felt  some  jealousy,  too,  that,  if  such  a  vision  were  vouchsafed 
at  all,  it  had  not  been  vouchsafed  to  them.  Into  these  feel- 
ings we  need  not  enter,  but  the  general  incredulity  among 
the  disciples  is  a  very  striking  feature  in  the  narrative.  A 
very  plausible  assumption,  often  put  forward  as  an  explana- 
tion of  the  Resurrection,  is  that  from  the  moment  when 
Mary's  story  gained  currency  there  would  be  an  irresistible 
tendency  to  supplement  it  with  other  and  similar  stories. 
Each  man  who  had  loved  Jesus  would  at  once  begin  to  imag- 
ine that  he  had  seen  Him.  The  whole  band  of  the  disciples 
would  be  "  on  the  watch  for  new  visions,  which  could  not  fail 
to  appear."     A  strange  sound,  a  shadow,  a  gust  of  wind,  al- 


438  THE    LIFE    OF   CHRIST 

most  anything  would  be  enough  to  suggest  to  an  excited 
fancy  that  Jesus  had  addressed  them,  or  had  for  an  instant 
glided  near  them.  But  the  entire  body  of  evidence  is  against 
these  suppositions.  The  disciples  complied  against  their 
will  in  a  belief  in  the  Kesurrection,  rather  than  connived  in 
it.  They  sat  with  closed  doors,  anxious  and  fearful,  and 
when,  in  the  twilight  of  the  same  day,  the  form  of  Jesus 
floated  into  the  room,  and  His  voice  addressed  them,  they 
were  "terrified  and  affrighted."  Two  disciples,  who  on  the 
same  day  were  upon  the  road  to  Emmaus,  talked  of  nothing 
as  they  went  but  the  tragic  death  of  Jesus,  and  received  a 
vision  of  Him  as  they  sat  at  supper  with  intense  surprise. 
One  of  the  Apostles  himself,  Thomas,  called  Didymus,  openly 
expressed  his  incredulity.  There  was,  therefore,  as  we  might 
expect,  the  greatest  division  of  opinion  among  the  friends  of 
Jesus.  We  are  even  told  that  forty  days  later,  when  the  vis- 
ions had  become  numerous,  and  Jesus  had  openly  appeared 
to  many  disciples  at  once,  "some  doubted."  The  vision  of 
Mary,  as  the  first  and  most  beautiful  of  many  reported  vis- 
ions, no  doubt  exercised  a  wide  influence  on  the  minds  of  the 
disciples ;  but  it  excited  quite  as  much  hostility  as  credence. 
To  say  that  the  "  delicate  susceptibility "  of  Mary — or,  in 
coarser  language,  "  the  passion  of  one  possessed  " — created 
the  Divine  shadow  which  hovers  still  above  the  world,  is  to 
speak  with  a  total  disregard  of  facts.  It  is  significant 
that  St.  Paul,  who  studied  the  whole  story  with  the  keen 
analysis  of  a  man  in  whom  hostility  slowly  melted  into  faith, 
does  not  so  much  as  mention  Mary  Magdalene.  Let  us 
honor  her  as  the  one  who  first  received  the  revelation ;  but 
it  is  foolish  to  say  that  Christendom  owes  its  faith  to  the  ex- 
quisite poetic  fancy  of  a  loving  and  hysteric  woman.  The 
world  is  not  so  easily  deceived.  Conviction  in  such  a  case 
could  only  come  by  a  long  series  of  cumulative  proofs,  in 


THE  RESURRECTION  AND  AFTER    439 

which  every  link  was  tested,  every  statement  questioned ;  and 
this  spirit  of  criticism,  by  which  men  doubt  their  doubts 
away,  this  rational  incredulity  which  is  the  only  guarantee 
of  truth,  certainly  existed  from  the  first  amongst  those  who 
were  the  chief  actors  in  the  drama.  When  John  included 
Mary's  story  in  his  Gospel,  it  was,  in  a  sense,  a  reversal  of 
his  previous  opinions ;  an  acknowledgment  of  a  truth  which 
he  had  once  denied,  and  had  accepted  only  with  reluctance 
and  after  sober  judgment. 

The  sacred  idyll  grew  apace.  One  incontestable  fact  was 
clear  to  all — the  Body  of  Christ  had  finally  disappeared. 
Had  it  indeed  been  stolen  by  either  friend  or  foe  it  was  im- 
possible that  the  fact  could  have  been  long  concealed.  The 
foes  of  Jesus  had  the  strongest  reasons  for  discovering  what 
had  really  happened.  Men  like  Joseph  and  Nicodemus  had 
reasons  hardly  less  urgent.  It  became  evident  to  all  that  a 
myth  was  growing  up  that  staggered  human  reason.  This 
myth  could  have  been  shattered  in  an  instant  had  a  single 
person  come  forward  to  reveal  where  the  body  was  secreted. 
No  one  revealed  the  secret,  because  there  was  no  secret  to 
reveal.  Day  by  day  suspicion  melted  into  faith  and  adora- 
tion. The  last  Apostle  to  be  convinced  was  Thomas.  Eight 
days  after  the  first  rumor  of  a  Resurrection  was  bruited 
abroad,  this  disciple,  hitherto  incredulous,  saw  his  Lord 
under  circumstances  which  left  no  room  for  denial.  In  the 
interval  he  had  doubtless  applied  all  the  ingenuity  of  a  mind 
radically  sceptical  to  the  solution,  or  rather  the  dissolution, 
of  those  beliefs  among  his  friends,  which  appeared  to  him 
tainted  with  the  virus  of  insanity.  In  the  dimness  of  the 
Garden,  amid  the  half-lights  of  dawn,  a  luminous  shadow 
had  appeared,  which  bore  a  resemblance  to  Jesus  ;  upon  the 
road  to  Emmans,  in  the  gathering  night,  a  Stranger,  bearing 
the  same  extraordinary  resembla^c  •,  had  spoken  with  a  voice 


440  THE    LIFE    OF   CHRIST 

that  seemed  like  Christ's.  Not  upon  such  accidents  as  these 
would  Thomas  base  his  faith.  He  would  be  content  with  no 
gentle  phantom,  outlined  for  a  moment  on  the  air,  in  soft 
lines  of  light.  On  the  eighth  night  there  appeared  to 
Thomas,  as  he  sat  in  the  upper  room  with  the  disciples,  not 
a  phantom,  but  the  very  Man  Christ  Jesus.  He  saw  the 
wound-marks  in  the  hands,  and  feet,  and  side.  He  heard 
the  remembered  voice  speak  to  him  in  words  of  tenderest  af- 
fection and  reproach.  The  soul  of  Thomas  breathed  all  its 
faith  and  love  in  one  ecstatic  cry,  "  My  Lord,  and  my  God ! " 
From  that  hour  the  perfect  fellowship  of  the  Apostles  was 
established.  Eleven  men,  each  convinced  in  his  own  way  of 
a  truth  which  made  a  mock  of  reason  and  experience,  were 
to  go  forth  into  a  hostile  world  to  preach  what  seemed  an  in- 
credible delusion ;  and,  what  is  more  amazing,  to  win  the 
world  to  their  beliefs. 

Among  these  disciples  a  unanimous  desire  to  return  to 
Galilee  was  soon  expressed.  It  would,  perhaps,  have  been 
more  natural  had  they  shown  a  disposition  to  linger  in  the 
scenes,  now  made  intensely  dear  and  sacred,  where  their 
faith  had  been  so  miraculously  new-born.  It  is  not  enough 
to  say  that  this  sudden  exodus  to  Galilee  was  caused  by  the 
hatred  which  they  felt  for  that  city  where  Jesus  had  endured 
such  hideous  wrongs  and  insults.  No  doubt  such  a  motive 
existed,  and  was  operative,  and  to  it  was  added  the  fear  of 
the  Sanhedrim.  But  a  far  more  potent  motive  was  the  con- 
ception they  had  now  attained  of  what  the  risen  life  of  Jesus 
meant.  They  did  not  imagine  Him  as  a  Divine  Phantom 
still  hovering  round  the  Tomb.  Such  an  imagination  would 
have  presented  no  extraordinary  features,  for  it  is  common 
in  the  poetry  and  the  folk-lore  of  the  world.  But  these  men 
imagined  Christ  as  having  taken  up  again  for  a  little  time 
the  active  duties  of  human  existence.     He  is  no  ghost ;  He 


THE  RESURRECTION  AND  AFTER    441 

lias  come  to  thein  in  His  own  proper  personality  and  iden- 
tity. He  has  been  known  to  them  in  the  breaking  of  bread, 
in  the  old  wise  kindliness  and  tranquillity  of  temper,  in  the 
use  of  familiar  metaphors  and  forms  of  speech,  and  also  in 
the  perfect  knowledge  He  displays  of  their  past  history,  their 
hopes  and  their  adventures,  their  secret  thoughts  and  doubts. 
Even  physically  He  is  unchanged.  He  bears  upon  His  per- 
son the  scars  of  Calvary,  calls  attention  to  them,  and  invites 
Thomas  to  thrust  His  hand  into  His  side.  Some  transfigur- 
ing change  has  passed  over  Him,  but  He  eats  and  drinks 
and  acts  as  though  He  were  still  one  of  themselves ;  as 
though  He  had  but  been  away  upon  a  brief  journey ; 
as  though  He  had  quietly  resumed  life  at  that  point  where 
its  threads  had  been  dropped ;  as  though,  indeed,  the  visible 
dissolution  on  the  Cross,  the  anointing  and  the  burial,  were 
but  episodes,  quite  unreal,  and  long  since  left  behind.  He 
is  "  the  same  Jesus  "  ;  and  yet  different  in  this,  that  for  Him 
the  physical  limitations  of  life  are  utterly  dissolved. 

It  was  because  they  thus  thought  of  Christ  that  they  felt 
no  inclination  to  linger  at  His  tomb,  nor  did  they  ever  return 
to  it.  They  went  into  Galilee  because  it  seemed  to  them 
that  the  scenes  where  the  earthly  ministry  of  Jesus  had  com- 
menced were  the  scenes  in  which  His  wider  spiritual  ministry 
should  also  be  inaugurated.  Besides  this,  they  believed  that 
Jesus  Himself  had  appointed  Galilee  as  the  sacred  trysting- 
place  of  love  and  faith.  He  desired  to  meet  the  men  He 
most  loved  among  the  scenes  He  most  loved.  Besides  the 
lake  where  they  had  first  received  their  call  they  were  to  ex- 
perience a  new  dedication  to  their  work,  and  where  their 
loyalty  had  first  been  kindled  they  were  to  take  the  vows  of 
a  more  assured  allegiance.  And  so  it  was.  There  came  a 
morning  when  no  fewer  than  seven  of  the  disciples  found 
themselves  upon  the  Sea  of  Galilee.     They  were  returning 


442  THE    LIFE    OF   CHRIST 

from  a  night  of  fruitless  toil,  and  as  the  day  broke  they  saw 
upon  the  shore  a  well-remembered  Figure,  standing  by  a 
newly-kindled  fire.  The  boat  was  now  close  to  shore,  and 
the  Figure  was  discerned  by  all  of  them.  Once  before  on 
that  very  lake  Jesus  had  entered  into  Simon's  boat,  and  had 
given  him  certain  instructions  which  resulted  in  a  great 
catch  of  fish.  Something  of  the  same  kind  happened  now. 
The  Stranger  told  the  tired  and  disappointed  fishermen  to 
cast  the  net  on  the  right  side  of  the  ship,  and  they  immedi- 
ately found  themselves  struggling  with  a  great  draught  of 
fish,  which  they  secured  with  difficulty.  Memory  in  Peter 
suddenly  became  insight.  With  a  startled  cry,  "  It  is  the 
Lord ! "  he  flung  himself  overboard  and  swam  to  land. 
When  the  other  disciples  had  arrived  they  were  gravely  wel- 
comed. The  Stranger  took  bread  and  gave  them ;  and  now 
the  memory  of  all  was  thrilled.  Even  so  had  Jesus  acted 
at  the  Paschal  Supper.  That  Avas  the  Supper  of  Death,  this 
was  the  Breakfast  of  New  Life.  The  night  of  sorrow  was 
closing  round  them  then ;  but  now  the  morning  bathed  the 
lake,  and  the  day  of  hope  had  opened.  They  dared  not 
speak  for  awe  and  joy ;  even  Thomas,  who  was  with  them, 
had  no  question  which  he  dared  to  ask.  They  waited  for 
the  Giver  of  the  feast  to  speak,  and  when  the  meal  was  over 
Jesus  spoke.  Peter,  who  had  thrice  denied,  was  gently 
drawn  into  a  three-fold  utterance  of  his  love.  He  heard  no 
more  with  fear  the  solemn  prophecy  of  the  things  he  should 
endure  for  Christ.  The  baptism  of  death  which  he  had  once 
refused  was  now  restored  to  him,  and  he  knew  himself  for- 
given. The  conversation  was  prolonged.  The  seven  men 
had  the  closest  opportunity  of  studying  Christ  attentively.  If 
any  doubt  yet  lingered  in  their  minds :  if  in  the  brevity  of 
the  previous  appearances  of  Christ  there  was  room  for  some 
suspicion  of  self-deception ;  there  could  be  none  now.     For 


THE  RESURRECTION  AND  AFTER    443 

some  hours  they  sat  with  Him  they  loved  upon  the  shores 
of  Galilee,  heard  His  voice,  ate  and  drank  with  Him  as  in 
the  old  sweet  days  of  human  fellowship,  and  were  assured 
that  His  triumph  over  death  was  absolute  and  supreme. 
The  sacred  idyll  which  was  destined  to  renew  the  world  now 
received  its  final  touch.  The  lake  which  had  seen  the  open- 
ing of  His  early  ministry  saw  its  close  ;  and  on  the  spot 
where  His  Gospel  was  first  preached  the  Divine  miracle  of 
His  risen  and  eternal  life  was  finally  affirmed.  These  things 
happened  "  that  men  might  believe  that  Jesus  was  the  Son 
of  God,  and  that  believing  they  might  have  life  through  His 
Name." 

We  may  attack,  if  we  will,  the  ability  of  these  men  to 
judge  aright  phenomena  which  called  for  the  sharpest  criti- 
cism, but  we  can  scarcely  attack  their  sincerity.  There  can- 
not be  the  slightest  doubt  that  they  believed  that  Jesus  did 
literally  and  truly  rise  again  from  the  dead.  Henceforth 
this  statement  became  the  very  core  and  root  of  all  their 
message  to  the  world.  No  vehemence  of  ridicule  or  persecu- 
tion was  able  for  an  instant  to  shake  their  testimony.  It  is 
a  palpable  evasion  to  declare  that  "  for  the  historian  the  life 
of  Jesus  finishes  with  His  last  sigh."  On  the  contrary,  the 
life  of  Jesus  really  begins  three  days  after  His  dying  sigh 
was  breathed.  By  every  parallel  of  history  the  Galilean 
movement  should  have  ended  at  the  Cross.  Jesus  should 
henceforth  have  been  remembered  only  as  a  hero  and  a 
martyr.  If  His  story  was  to  take  any  hold  upon  popular 
imagination,  it  should  have  been  as  the  story  of  One  Mho 
had  gloriously  failed.  On  the  contrary,  the  Apostles 
preached  a  Jesus  who  had  triumphantly  succeeded.  They 
never  speak  of  Him  as  dead,  but  as  One.  alive  for  evermore. 
We  may  call  this,  if  we  will,  a  kind  of  sublime  hallucination. 
But  we  have  then  to  ask  whether  it  is  probable  that  the  en- 


444  THE    LIFE    OF    CHRIST 

tire  course  of  human  history  could  have  been  altered  by  an 
hallucination?     The  mind  that  suffers  from  hallucinations  is 
a  mind  no  longer  sane.     Can  we  possibly  imagine  a  band  of 
madmen  able  to  subdue  Europe  to  a  faith  in  an  insane  delu- 
sion?    The  hypothesis  is  absurd.     Human  nature  certainly 
shows  itself  capable  of  gross  delusions,  but  no  instance  can 
be  given  of  whole  nations,  through  a  long  course  of  time,  ac- 
cepting a  delusion  with  such  thorough  faith,  that  they  have 
been  willing  to  discard  for  its  sake  their  traditional  faiths  and 
pieties,  reconstruct  their  philosophies  and  social  ethics,  and 
build  anew  the  entire  structure  of  their  life  from  the  base 
upward.     Yet  this  is  what  has  happened.     For  all  the  West- 
ern nations,  who  are  the  custodians  of  all  that  is  loftiest  in 
human  thought  and  government,  and  the  representatives  of 
all  that  is  most  efficient  in  human  energy,  the  Resurrection 
of  Christ  has  become  a  fundamental  truth.     The  world  re- 
dated  its  existence  from  the  moment  when  a  group  of  simple 
Galileans  asserted  that  their  Master  had  risen  from  the  dead. 
But  it  is  said,  it  is  not  necessary  to  use  so  harsh  a  word 
as  hallucination.     All  that  these  idyllic  stories  were  meant  to 
convey  is  that  there  is  a  certain  resurrection  of  the  wise  and 
good  into  an  immortality  of  influence.     Jesus  did  rise  again, 
but  not  physically ;  not  even  spiritually  in  any  definite  and 
personal  sense ;  His  influence  survived,  and  from  the  Tomb 
He  stretched  out  His  hand  to  touch  and  mould  anew  the 
whole  human  race.     But  if  the  Resurrection  chapters  of  the 
Bible  are  nothing  more  than  an  allegory  of  influence,  why 
invent  narratives  full  of  circumstantial  detail,  and  who  among 
the  Galileans  were  capable  of   these  exquisite  inventions? 
And,  besides  this,  is  it  likely  that  any  doctrine  of  the  immor- 
tality of  influence  should  have  had  the  least  inherent  power 
to  change  the  whole  current  of  human  thought  as  we  know 
the  doctrine  of  Christ's  Resurrection  did  ?     The  immortality 


THE  RESURRECTION  AND  AFTER    445 

of  influence  can  be  used  as  a  synonym  of  the  Resurrection 
only  by  a  palpable  abuse  of  language,  winch  men  so  full  of 
the  critical  and  philosophic  spirit  as  the  Greeks  and  Romans 
would  have  been  quick  to  recognize.  For  when  man  speaks 
of  life,  he  means  one  thing  only — conscious  life.  When  he 
speaks  of  Risen  Life,  he  means  one  thing  only — renewed 
and  conscious  life  in  all  its  force  of  identity  and  personality. 
When  he  speaks  of  Eternal  Life,  he  means  eternal  conscious 
personality,  potent  and  efficient  in  all  its  acts,  beyond  the 
bare  efficiency  of  earthly  life.  So  clearly  is  this  the  meaning  of 
the  Scripture  writers  that  none  other  is  possible ;  for  if  the 
Resurrection  can  be  reduced  to  a  mere  allegory  of  influence, 
the  entire  life  of  Jesus  may  be  as  easily  reduced  to  a  poetic 
allegory  of  charity  and  love. 

If  men  came  to  accept  the  Resurrection  as  a  truth,  it  was 
because  they  saw  it  as  the  necessary  complement  of  the  his- 
tory of  Christ.  Jesus  began  His  ministry  with  the  doctrine 
of  the  Fatherhood  of  God,  which  implies  that  man  is  a  par- 
taker in  the  Divine  Nature.  Man  is  not  a  creature  of  the 
dust,  not  the  mere  paragon  of  animals,  but  a  Divine  emana- 
tion, in  which  God  expresses  Himself.  The  ministry  of 
Jesus  is  announced  with  the  old  prophetic  formula,  "The 
Spirit  of  the  Lord  is  upon  Me."  A  little  later  comes  a  won- 
derful definition  of  God :  "  God  is  a  Spirit."  A  yet  more 
wonderful  discovery  follows,  He  also  is  a  Spirit;  before 
Abraham  was  He  was,  and  the  physical  form  of  Jesus  of 
Nazareth  is  but  a  temporary  incarnation.  Another  stage  of 
thought  is  reached  in  the  sublime  saying,  "  I  and  the  Father 
are  one."  It  is  the  identity  of  His  own  spirit  with  the  God 
who  is  Spirit,  and  the  discovery  of  his  own  deity.  If  these 
things  are  true  it  is  no  more  a  thing  incredible  that  Jesus 
should  rise  from  the  dead.  Men  who  have  been  deeply  con- 
scious of  their  own  inner  life  have  found  themselves  able  to 


446  THE    LIFE    OF   CHRIST 

say  that  "  death  is  an  almost  laughable  impossibility,  and 
the  extinction  of  personality  (if  so  it  were)  the  only  true  life." 
The  man  who  has  once  attained  this  vivid  realism  of  his  own 
spiritual  nature  will  find  no  difficulty  in  believing  in  the 
Resurrection  of  Christ.  He  will  rather  see  it  as  the  neces- 
sary vindication,  not  alone  of  Christ,  but  of  man  himself.  It 
is  materialism  alone  that  is  entirely  dead  to  such  a  truth ; 
and  the  battle  of  the  Resurrection  has  always  been  fought 
out,  and  must  evermore  be  waged  between  the  materialist  on 
the  one  hand,  who  sees  life  as  a  form  of  matter,  and  the 
spiritualist,  who  sees  all  human  life  as  an  expression  of  spirit. 
If  the  world  has  come  to  believe  in  the  Resurrection  of 
Christ,  it  is  because  the  spiritual  instinct  in  man  feels  such 
a  resurrection  necessary.  Man  needs  vindication  against 
the  tyranny  of  time,  and  dust,  and  death.  Jesus  supplied 
that  vindication.  The  power  of  the  Resurrection  is  not  that 
it  was  personal  only,  but  representative.  Man  rose  in  Christ, 
and  Christ  became  the  first  fruits  of  them  that  slept.  And 
so  His  own  great  words  to  Mary  are,  "  I  ascend  unto  My 
Father  and  your  Father,  and  to  my  God  and  your  God." 

Through  forty  days  of  spiritual  existence,  manifest  at  in- 
tervals to  those  who  loved  Him,  Jesus  prepared  His  disciples 
to  receive  this  truth.  The  last  scene  of  all  occurred  at  Beth- 
any. In  the  evening  coolness  He  led  them  out  to  the  neigh- 
borhood of  that  home  where  love  had  once  anointed  Him 
for  burial,  and  of  that  tomb  where  He  had  once  showed  His 
mastery  over  death.  "  And  He  lifted  up  His  hands  and 
blessed  them.  And  it  came  to  pass,  while  He  blessed  them, 
that  He  was  parted  from  them  and  carried  up  into  Heaven. 
And  they  worshipped  Him,  and  rehired  to  Jerusalem  with 
great  joy,  and  were  continually  in  the  Temjrie,  praising  and 
blessing  God."  They  had  learned  the  final  lesson  which 
fitted  them  to  be  the  Apostles  of  the  world's  eternal  hope. 


THE  RESURRECTION  AND  AFTER    447 

Henceforth  Jesus  was  to  them  more  alive  and  more  beloved 
than  He  had  ever  been.  Through  all  the  dawns  and  nights 
that  lay  between  them  and  martyrdom  they  heard  His  ad- 
vancing footstep,  caught  the  clear  whisper  of  His  voice,  and 
felt  the  glow  of  His  immediate  Presence  ;  and  never  was  this 
finer  intimacy  of  the  soul  so  deep  as  in  the  hour  when  they 
died  for  Him.  They  did  not  wish  Him  back  again,  because 
they  knew  that  He  had  never  gone  away.  No  regrets 
mingled  in  their  love  for  Him.  The  Bridegroom  was  still 
with  them,  and  life,  in  spite  of  all  its  outward  deprivations, 
became  once  more  a  bridal  feast.  In  after  ages  great  dis- 
putes arose  which  worked  disruption  in  this  tender  amity, 
and  turned  the  marriage  feast  to  mourning.  Why  should 
we  consider  these,  when  we  may  share  the  bridal  festival  of 
faith  and  love  ?  Why  dispute  on  forms  of  dogma  while  the 
poetry  of  faith  may  still  be  ours,  as  it  was  theirs  who  were 
content  to  know  that  Christ  was  with  them  alway,  as  the 
Lover  and  the  Friend  ?  It  is  enough  if  we  shall  so  read  the 
story  of  the  Man  Christ  Jesus  that  we  may  believe  that  He 
is  God,  "  not  by  conversion  of  the  Godhead  into  flesh,  but 
taking  of  the  Manhood  into  God."  And  there  is  a  creed  at 
once  wiser  and  simpler  even  than  the  creed  of  Athanasius, 
in  which  Doubt  itself  puts  on  angel- wings — 

"Thou  seemest  human  and  divine, 

The  highest,  holiest  manhood,  Thou : 

Our  wills  are  ours,  we  know  not  how ; 

Our  wills  are  ours,  to  make  them  Thine." 


APPENDIX 


THE  TRUE  SITE  OF  CALVAEY 

The  reasons  for  rejecting  the  tradition  that  the  Church  of 
the  Holy  Sepulchre  stands  upon  the  site  of  Golgotha  may  be 
briefly  stated. 

The  site  certainly  does  not  corresjiond  with  the  descriptions 
of  the  Evangelists,  that  it  was  "nigh  unto  the  city,"  and  it 
seems  unlikely  that  it  ever  could  have  done  so.  It  was  not 
until  the  third  century  that  the  Empress  Helena  visited  Jeru- 
salem with  the  avowed  purpose  of  building  a  church  upon  the 
site  of  Golgotha.  In  the  meantime  Jerusalem  had  suffered 
great  vicissitudes.  It  had  been  utterly  destroyed  and  rebuilt; 
and  for  a  period  of  three  generations,  from  A.  D.  130,  by  the 
order  of  the  Emperor  Hadrian,  no  Christian  had  been  per- 
mitted to  live  within  it.  It  is  tolerably  certain,  therefore,  that 
if  Golgotha  had  been  where  the  Church  of  the  Holy  Sepulchre 
now  stands,  there  would  have  been  no  one  lef  who  could  have 
placed  its  identity  beyond  dispute.  It  seems  probable  that 
the  Empress  was  deceived,  either  by  the  ignorance  or  the  con- 
nivance of  her  informants,  who  were  only  too  anxious  to  oblige 
her,  and  were  naturally  desirous  that  an  important  church 
should  be  erected  within  the  bounds  of  what  then  constituted 
the  City  of  Jerusalem. 

It  will  be  said,  however,  that  the  same  causes  which  led  to 
error  in  this  case,  would  be  equally  effective  in  rendering  the 
identification  of  any  other  site  impossible.  But  it  will  appear 
at  once  that  in  the  general  ignorance  it  was  quite  possible  that 
the  real  site  should  have  been  overlooked.  Moreover,  there 
were  good  reasons  why  at  this  time  the  site  of  Golgotha  should 
29  449 


450  APPENDIX 

have  been  forgotten,  apart  from  those  reasons  incidental  to 
the  thorough  demolition  of  the  city.  It  would  be  natural  to 
assume  that  the  place  where  Christ  died  would  be  so  dear  and 
sacred  to  the  early  Christians,  that  by  no  possibility  could  the 
knowledge  of  its  locality  be  lost.  But  this  is  to  reason  from 
our  modes  of  thought  rather  than  from  theirs.  It  was  not 
upon  the  death  and  burial  of  Christ  that  early  Christian  thought 
brooded,  but  upon  the  eternal  mystery  and  wonder  of  His  new- 
risen  life.  The  picture  of  His  last  shame  and  agony  was  oblit- 
erated by  the  overwhelming  and  joyous  assurance  that  He  was 
alive  for  evermore.  Men  looked  not  to  the  spot  of  earth  where 
He  had  suffered,  but  to  the  heavens,  from  which  He  might  de- 
scend at  any  moment  in  great  power  and  glory.  Not  thinking 
of  Him  as  dead,  it  would  be  natural  that  they  should  exercise 
no  care  to  preserve  the  tradition  of  the  place  where  He  had 
died.  The  sudden  passion  for  identifying  Holy  Sites  took  the 
early  Christians  by  surprise.  No  one  had  thought  it  needful 
to  jDreserve  the  necessary  data,  and  in  the  years  immediately 
following  Christ's  death,  no  one  had  desired  to  do  so.  But 
something  had  to  be  done  to  meet  the  demand,  especially 
when  it  was  supported  by  so  powerful  a  personage  as  the  Em- 
press, and  it  might  very  easily  happen  that  a  site  might  be  in- 
dicated at  hazard,  which  was  the  wrong  site,  while  the  true  site 
escaped  notice,  and  found  no  advocate. 

By  the  same  process  of  reasoning  it  is  evident  that  when 
once  a  site  had  been  selected,  either  right  or  wrong,  and  a 
great  church  had  been  erected  on  it,  which  in  course  of  time 
attracted  pilgrims  from  every  quarter  of  the  world,  there 
would  be  good  reasons  why  the  tradition  should  remain  un- 
contested and  undisturbed.  Where  no  one  doubted  the  tra- 
dition, no  one  would  seek  to  disprove  it,  and  every  year  would 
add  to  its  authority.  When  it  is  said  that  the  continuous  tra- 
dition of  sixteen  centuries  is  not  to  be  lightly  set  aside,  we 
agree;  but  the  remark  has  far  less  force  than  it  appears  to 
have,  when  Ave  remember  that  mere  lapse  of  time  is  quite  as 
effective  in  giving  authority  to  a  wrong  tradition  as  a  right 


APPENDIX  451 

one.  A  statement  supported  by  the  faith  of  many  centuries 
certainly  apj>ears  to  have  a  better  claim  to  credence  than  a 
statement  of  yesterday;  yet  there  is  no  inherent  reason  why 
this  should  be  so.  A  critical  mind  will  attach  but  subsidary 
importance  to  the  length  of  time  during  which  a  statement  has 
been  accepted  as  truth,  because  errors  as  well  as  truths  pos- 
sess an  equal  power  of  longevity.  The  really  important  ques- 
tion will  be  which  of  the  two  contending  parties  has  the  best 
right  to  be  believed,  as  being  the  best  equipped  for  the  task 
of  discrimination;  and  in  this  case,  the  one  party  is  deeply  in- 
terested in  pleasing  a  powerful  personage,  and  the  other  in 
getting  at  the  real  truth  ;  the  one  is  the  priest  of  a  credulous 
age,  and  the  other  the  discoverer  of  a  scientific  age. 

As  regards  what  is  known  as  "  Gordon's  Calvary,"  the  green 
hill  immediately  outside  the  present  Damascus  gate  of  Jeru- 
salem, there  is  a  body  of  evidence  which  to  me  seems  conclu- 
sive. (1)  It  certainly  fulfils  the  topographical  indications  of 
the  Gospel  writers.  It  is  outside  the  gate,  and  it  is  near  to 
the  city.  It  is  a  place  where  a  great  concourse  could  assem- 
ble. The  road  that  winds  about  its  base  would  afford  the  oji- 
portunity  for  the  "  passers  by  "  to  rail  on  any  one  who  suffered 
crucifixion.  And,  while  some  imagination  is  necessary,  and 
perhaps  some  degree  of  preconception,  there  can  be  no  mis- 
take that  the  face  of  the  hill  does  bear  an  extraordinary  re- 
semblance to  a  human  skull,  from  which  its  name  may  have 
been  derived.  (2)  It  is  more  than  curious  that  this  hill  should 
be  known  even  among  modern  Jews  as  the  "Hill  of  Execu- 
iton;"  and  the  curse  uttered  by  the  Jew  at  this  spot,  on  one 
who  ruined  the  nation  "  by  aspiring  to  be  its  king,"  must  have 
some  historic  significance.  Christ  manifestly  answers  this  de- 
scription, and  it  would  be  eminently  characteristic  of  the  un- 
dying rancor  of  the  Jewish  mind  that  His  name  should  be  still 
cursed  on  the  spot  where  He  died.  (3)  The  small  garden  at 
the  foot  of  the  hill,  with  the  tomb  in  it,  closely  corresponds 
with  the  Gospel  narratives.  We  are  specifically  told  that  there 
was  a  garden  on  or  close  to  Golgotha,  and  in  it  was  a  tomb 


452  APPENDIX 

in  which  no  man  had  lain.  All  authorities  agree  that  this 
tomb  is  of  the  Herodian  period.  It  is  also  unfinished.  One 
only  of  its  burial  cavities  is  complete,  and  it  would  be  natural 
to  infer  that  one  only  has  been  used.  These  coincidences  are 
in  themselves  so  close  and  extraordinary  that  they  have  the 
effect  of  proof  upon  a  rational  mind. 

Personal  convictions,  of  course,  count  for  little,  but  I  may 
add  that  the  more  closely  I  examined  "  Gordon's  Calvary  "  and 
the  adjoining  tomb  when  I  was  residing  in  Jerusalem,  the 
more  overwhelming  became  the  impression  that  these  were  in- 
deed the  actual  scenes  of  the  death  ;  nd  burial  of  Jesus.  I 
visited  them  at  first  without  the  least  preconception  in  their 
favor,  and  in  the  company  of  those  who  regarded  them  with 
entire  incredulity.  What  I  saw  convinced  me  of  the  truth  of 
Gordon's  hypothesis;  and  after  going  over  all  the  arguments 
for  both  sides  in  detail  and  at  leisure,  my  conviction  has  been 
greatly  strengthened.  And  when  I  remember  all  the  cruel 
strife  associated  with  Godfrey  and  Louis,  which  has  been  waged 
around  the  reputed  Holy  Sepulchre;  all  the  bitter  feuds  be- 
tween Latin,  Greek,  and  Armenian  which  still  dishonor  and 
pollute  the  shrine;  all  the  meretricious  splendor  with  which 
it  is  invested,  and  the  jostling  crowds  who  mingle  with  a  su- 
perstitious reverence  for  gold  and  marble  an  utter  detestation 
of  each  other:  I  am  glad  to  think  that  the  hand  of  God  has 
hidden  the  true  Calvary  from  the  eye  of  man  through  all  these 
centuries,  that  it  might  become  possible,  in  an  age  of  purer 
faith,  for  the  devout  pilgrim  to  stand  beneath  the  open  sky 
and  see  the  earthly  altar  of  the  Lord,  and  to  kneel  at  His 
tomb,  amid  such  surroundings  as  Christ  Himself  loved — the 
perfume  and  meditative  silence  of  a  garden. 

For  the  full  discussion  of  this  subject,  I  would  refer  my 
readers  to  the  writings  of  Dr.  Eobinson,  Sir  Charles  Wilson, 
and  Mr.  Haskett  Smith.  In  the  July  number  for  1901  of  the 
Quarterly  Statement  of  the  Palestine  Exploration  Fund,  there  is  a 
careful  article  by  the  Kev.  Francis  Gell,  M.  A.,  Horn  Canon  of 
Worcester  Cathedral. 


Date  Due 

■flttHNHft 

<f> 

PRINTED 

IN   U.   S.   A. 

